#Blades of light and shadow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stringoflights93 · 2 days ago

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Chapter 8: A Tale of Two Princes

“HELP! HEEEELLLLP!” The one in red is still screaming at the top of his lungs as he trips over something and staggers.

“For the Light’s sake, keep it together!” His brother snaps, grabbing his arm to keep him upright. The black, faint blues and gold in his cloak twirl around him in a mesmerizing pattern as he looks all around, the crown on his head sitting perfectly aloft.

The two young men in their fine clothes continue rushing through the trees. And behind them, the chittering, writhing swarm grows closer, their, ‘bzzzt,’ of fury stronger than any predator's growl you’d heard.

“GUYS!” You shout, whirling away from the window, already halfway to the door, your only stop to snatch your new bow and quiver from where you’d left it at the hearth. “Wake up! We’ve got company!”

There’s a crash as more than one of them startle awake in their rooms, but you’re already half out the door, bow drawn as the hulking swarm draws closer, gaining on the pair.

“By the Light! What are those?” Nia gasps, already right behind you.

“Bugs! I hate bugs!” Imtura snarls, impatiently tugging the last of her furs on as she staggers out the door after you with one hand on an ax.

“Not just any bugs. Drakna,” Tyril seethes, easily gaining and then surpassing you with his longer legs, sword drawn.

“Please, help us!” The boy in red gasps, spotting you and spinning, nearly colliding back with the earth in his haste. His own crown is crooked upon his head and falls into his eyes, the gold of his cloak snagging on a tree and leaving him strangled in place.

“Time to take this dagger for a test run,” Mal’s almost laughing in delight, light footed as ever as he sprints. He hurls the magic blade you picked up earlier. It streaks through the air, punching a hole clean through one drakna’s head, this one red and black, only slightly smaller, no less deadly by its needle pinned arms. It makes a, ‘bbbzzzz!’ of anger as it collapses to the ground with a clean slice right through its skull only just starting to ooze blood as the blade twirls right back into Mal’s hand.

“YES!” His cheer and growing grin are infectious as you laugh along in delight. “Now that’s a dagger!”

As more drakna swoop in from the trees, you stop, warn anyone at your elbow, “I got this,” and aim within the ancient elven longbow. With a pull back of the string, you let your arrow fly.

It whizzes over the heads of the two well-dressed men and skewers an entire row of drakna. “Bullseye!” You crow grimly, already reaching for another. A few of them manage to make sad little, “Bzt!,” noises as they fall to the ground in a mishmash of wings and sectioned body parts.

“You-your longbow?!” The boy in red gasps, gaping up at you. “Where did you find such a thing?”

Before you can answer, another drakna swarms toward you, stinger raised. This one’s blue. It would have been beautiful to observe if it weren’t about to kill you.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mal’s regular knife sings back through the air to paray the stinger away from your chest as the magical one is still returning. “Hrah! C’mon, kit, gimme a hand with this one!”

It’s swerving, the bug is already shifting on those massive wings. It’s to close to bother with another arrow, and you truly panic as those pincers snap in a disgusting spray over the both of you, its needle-like legs twist as if a mind of their own to decapitate the pair of you. With a wild flash of memory, you dig up the power, and siphon energy into the palm of your hand in a pure form of Light.

“Ahhh!” The guttural scream is wrenched out of you along with the life-giving energy. The orb surges at the drakna, consuming it in hot white light. Its form glows, backlit as if it had just swallowed a flame. With a screeching buzz, it plunges to the ground where it lies still, smoking.

“Wow, I really just did that,” you still mutter, staring at your own hand in amazement.

“I knew you could,” Nia says, squeezing your arm in delight from behind you where she’s staying close.

But even as you celebrate, another drakna moves in, its buzzing filling your ears.

You throw up your hands, whether to shield yourself or blast them again even you don’t know- when a hand axe twirls through the air and slices the drakna’s head clean off.

“Huh-” the flash goes by so fast you almost don’t clock what did it.

Imtura stands beside you, a huge grin on her face. “How many times am I gonna have to save you landrat?” She asks pleasantly.

“As many as you’d like,” you chuckle.

Tyril is a silent, deadly slice of air, felling at least half a dozen like a lethal shadow already. Between the four of you with Nia in the center, you’ve formed a ring of death.

The remaining drakna hover at the edge of the trees, buzzing angrily, but starting to wearily keep their distance…

“We make our stand here!” The boy in black proclaims, waving his sword around in a flash of gleaming metal.

“If we must fight, then we shall,” his brother reluctantly agrees, his hands curling up into fists as if ready to box the creatures to the last.

The bugs don’t come any closer as the two young men ready themselves, standing either side of you like points on an inverted arrow. You can already see a plan forming in your head, how they’d draw them in-

But the monsters stare at you, their mandibles twitching. With an icy chill down your spine, you realize for the first time though, they’re not looking at you.

Your satchel is on Imtura.

Then as one, they turn and retreat into the forest.

“Yeah! You better run!” Mal cheers, waving a finger about as they go.

“The only good bug is a dead bug,” Imtura huffs, flinging goo from her horn in disgust. Then she hands your bag over to you wordlessly, and you gratefully slip it back over your head where it rests upon your shoulder without further ado, the familiar weight leaving you feeling centered and calm in the wake of that.

Tyril turns to you, clearly impressed. “You fought fiercely out there Syrum, quite the warrior with that bow.”

The praise makes you feel more light headed than the adrenaline rush slowly creeping out of your arms as you grin at him. What a morning! “Tell me something I don’t know,” you laugh wildly.

“Why did they all retreat like that?” Nia asks cautiously, still watching their forms. The buzzing of their wings can still be faintly heard if you listen for it.

“The drakna are a cautious species!” The new guy in red jumps forward eagerly, eyeing her with a brilliant smile as he answers in an excited cadence. “They never attack unless they’re certain they’ll win!” Something about the way he says it… like he’d read it somewhere…

“And we showed them we’re not one to mess with!” His brother says with a proud grin.

“Who are you two?” You ask in fascination, resisting the urge to reach over and feel their attire as it still gleams faintly in the low light, only a few threads really out of place to your shock.

“Are you serious? You don’t know?” The one in black has a disparaging voice as he eyes you up and down in a way you instantly recognize, and don't much appreciate. You sigh, shoulders slumping, resisting the urge to tip your face to the sky and ask why. You got enough of this from Tyril-

“Obviously not,” to your shock, it’s him who steps toward the human with a haughty frown of his own. “That’s why he asked.” Nobody does cold disinterest like him, and yet it gives your heart a twinge of joy to see his defense of you, your ignorance, for the first time.

“I don’t care what rock you crawled out from under, elf, you do not talk to me like that!” The guy, perhaps roughly your age if not closer to Mal’s, crosses his arms and sneers right back. He’s only a few inches taller than you, but you’d swear at least as tall as the trees the way he sniffs and holds his head high.

Tyril reaches for his blade, but the other kid jumps forward.

You blink in fascination if you were really about to see your friend lop the guy's crown off his head along with the rest of it attached just for that… and resist the urge to pull the boy in red out of the way, but no. That was maybe jumping the proverbial gun.

“Easy brother, they saved our lives,” the younger one puts a calming hand on his shoulder.

The snootier of the two sighs, then steps forward and puffs out his chest, brushing his brother aside impatiently. “Right. I am Prince Baldur Valleros, first of my name and heir to the Morella throne.” Well, that explained a lot, especially why Mal had already fallen to the back of your party with a look of almost loathing as he tucks his blade away, magical and otherwise. “And this pipsqueak is my little brother, Aerin,” he concludes with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Yup, that’s me,” he gives a sad little wave, eyes still sweeping over you, Tyril, and Imtura with great interest.

“You- your Highnesses!” Nia gasps, sweeping herself into a bow at once. “It’s an honor!” She then drops into a kneel before them… it’s not something you’ve ever seen before except once in your life, and you could almost laugh back on yourself doing the same to Threep... Though you always knew it was expected of you…

Then Mal makes a face, and grudgingly does the same. Your mouth actually falls open just a bit at the display from him.

“Right. Princes. My favorite,” he mutters under his breath, his words twisted and bitter.

Imtura and Tyril however don’t move.

“You have no jurisdiction over us, especially not in elven territory,” Tyril remains his hostility, not having lessened one jot, and he’s stayed firmly in front of you.

“And orcs don’t bow.” Imtura scoffs at even the implication. “Especially not to soft little princelings,” she sneers at his bloodless sword still held casually at his side.

There’s a moment of silence, and you feel the hair on the back of your neck tingle as all eyes land on you… the one raised with the humans. You know in theory you shouldn’t, to follow Tyril’s lead, but that’s not what really has you hesitating either.

… if Kade had been here you would have, just out of a moral obligation to your brother without question, anyone in Riverbend even… You almost feel the same instinct to do so for Mal’s sake if nothing else, it’s not as if you have any tie to Tyril as your ‘Lord’ or any other elvish way…

But you don’t. The moment passes, and you’ve crossed your arms, a firm feeling of obstinance for… something you’re only barely coming to terms with in yourself. You study the princes carefully instead for a reaction as you say, “you’re a long way from Whitetower, Your Highnesses.” There’s forced politeness in your tone at least to smooth over the situation.

Though truly, you already have even less respect for them than you did Ventra Tal Kaelen. This unimpressive fool was seriously lowering your already nonexistent standards of monarchy and leaders in general.

“It’s true,” Aerin sighs, looking longingly around. “But I’ve always longed to see the Deadwood for myself, a solemn reminder of the cost of hubris,” he manages a pitiful little laugh.

“And that’s why you’re here?” You step beside Tyril, quirking a curious brow at Aerin, and still flashing a mistrustful look to his scowling brother as he clenches his hand around his sword, frustration radiating off of him. “To look at the devastation?”

Baldur quickly smooths out his face though and sheathes away his weapon at last. “We’re out here on a hunting expedition! I’m something of a collector of exotic beasts, you see, and rumor has it the biggest, most dangerous game in the kingdom is found in these woods!” He throws his arms wide as if expecting you all to oooh and ahhh on command. It’s vaguely sickening.

Tyril shoots him a glare so cold it could snuff out the sun. “You’re in these woods, voluntarily, to hunt?”

The thick little prince doesn’t bat an eye. “I’ve been after the drakna queen for some time. A worthy prize to bring home to the people of Whitetower!” His face shifts into his own anger though, laughable in the face of your friend really, but there all the same as he shoots his brother a look. “But while Aerin was supposed to be on guard for our caravan, we were overrun.”

“I did my duty brother,” he insists, shrinking back from him. “It’s not my fault.”

“We saw a caravan attacked further down the road,” you agree in surprise this at least was finally starting to come together. “Was that yours?”

“I’m afraid so,” Aerin groans. “Our companions were all killed by the drakna, as were our servants.”

Mal grumbles under his breath, “naturally, the smallfolk died while the princes ran away-”

“What was that?!” Baldur snaps, whirling around on him, hand back on his blade.

“Nothing,” Mal hasn’t raised his head yet, but you can hear that flippant smile back in his tone. “Your Highness, just clearing my throat is all.”

Anger burns through you, your firsts are clenched, but you know you shouldn’t interfere, directly anyways. Mal can handle himself at any rate. Your mind swivels back to that little voxper pup, and the master he mentioned as you step subtly between Baldur and Mal now. “Was one of your companions Lord Goffrey of Whitetower?”

“Indeed,” he levels you with an unimpressed scowl once more. “A drakna drove its stinger clear through his skull. What’s it to you?”

“Poor Goff,” Aerin sniffles, brushing at his eyes.

You ignore Baldur’s question as you feel the tight clench of your vow melt away with a lot less sorrow than you’d have anticipated. “How did you escape the drakna?” It takes all your self restraint not to smirk at him, having seen the tail end of how that ended all the same.

“I used one of my relics to distract them,” Aerin eagerly explains, and you smile much more fondly at him. “Bought us time to flee. Then I found a small burrow for us to hide in until most of them had left.”

“Pathetic,” Baldur spits out, glowering at his brother so harshly, you almost want to step in between them next at the animosity suddenly in the air as Aerin shrinks back. “Lying in the dirt like cowards while our friends were slaughtered.” … it was almost a valid point though…

“I thought we were clear of them, but after we emerged, a scout saw us, and they attacked again!” Aerin sighs meekly, shifting his weight around with glistening eyes.

“And here we are!” Baldur concludes with a huff. “No men, no caravan, no supplies. Now then, who the hell are you lot, and what are you doing in the Deadwood?” He winds himself back up to his utmost superiority as his eyes scan between the five of you.

You glance at your companions uneasily, are you really going to reveal your true mission to these princes? No one exactly leaps forward to do so.

So you hitch a friendly smile in place, hoping it’s not half as sardonic as you felt it was to play this game.

OR BOLAS OR

“We are lost, hopelessly lost,” you proclaim, looking frantically around as if just realizing where you were. “We were on our way to Whitetower, but we got lost and ended up here!”

“You’re, very far from Whitetower,” Aerin peers at you in confusion.

“We’re, very bad at directions,” you agree with a simpering smile. Tyril is giving you a stank eye you are actively ignoring. You would kick yourself later when he makes it clear he regrets defending you, but alas, you didn’t see anyone else coming up with any brilliant ideas.

“Hah!” Baldur laughs so hard he almost dislodges his crown. Almost. “Well, what do you expect from smallfolk, Aerin? They haven’t had our education. They haven’t sat through all those lessons on cartography.”

“You, slept through those lessons,” Aerin switches his frown between his brother and you now.

“Either way,” Baldur brushes his hand ariely, still laughing. “You’re in luck, now that you’re with us!”

“But, they still haven’t explained who they are or what they’re after-” Aerin tries to protest.

Mal mercifully steps forward at last, clearing his throat. It makes something in you release in relief to see him back to his natural charming self. “All right, cards on the table. We’re mercenaries.”

OR BOLAS OR

Before you can cobble anything together in your mind, Nia says, “we’re adventurers on a vital quest.” You shoot her an alarmed look, telling the truth to these guys didn’t feel high on your list of good options, but she’s smiling so sweetly as she talks to the earth, and you know it’s not an act. She’s truly overjoyed to be sharing this with them. “We’re on a mission of grave importance, seeking relics to save the world!”

… you suppose you shouldn’t stop her… you were going to need to get to Whitetower eventually and figure out how to get help…

“Oh, harhar,” Baldur scoffs at her with such derision, it makes your blood boil. “You had better not be fooling with me priestess, because I don’t like being mocked.”

“No, it’s true!” Nia says, looking up at him, and clearly floored at the scathing words. “We’re seeking the Onyx Shards to defeat the Shadow Court!”

“All right, now I know you’re messing with me,” his lip is twitching in an almost threatening way as he sneers at her, the exchange haunting you so much you stand frozen in place-

Mal mercifully steps forward at last, clearing his throat. “Yes, yes, just a joke. Our priestess, boy, she’s a real kidder!”

Nia gives Mal a hurt look, she’s clearly wounded as her eyes dart between the prince and him in utter confusion, but he steps forward with that familiar presence taking up center stage, blocking her from sight. “All right, cards on the table. We’re mercenaries.”

OR BOLAS OR

“We,” you begin grandly, giving the pair of them your most flattering smile that almost always got you a free biscuit. “Are so lucky we found you! We were so scared, lost in these woods until we ran into a pair of brave, strong princes like you.” You brush your hair behind your ear and then lean forward, letting the tips of your fingers pet Aeirn’s arm, and he flushes a deep scarlet. It glides under your fingertips like you were stroking water, shimmering a bit as the weaved fabric glimmers back. Gods but it was soft and pretty.

Imtura very poorly muffles a choking laugh, but Aerin’s eyes are only on you. “I, uh, would be, erm, most honored, to accompany you.” He stammers, red coloring his cheeks.

You can practically feel Mal rolling his eyes, while Imtura is not fighting down one bit of her laughter easily. You are going to wretch as your smile stays taught in place at Baldur next, who mercifully is even more dimwitted.

“Hmm, perhaps not who I would have chosen for myself, but I suppose one can’t be too picky in the Deadwood.” To your absolute horror, he takes the flattery even more personally and gives you a newly appraising look. “But you still haven’t explained what you were doing out here, perhaps you’d like to talk in private?”

“I-” horror slams into you at the implication, but before you can actually vomit, Mal mercifully steps forward at last, clearing his throat. It makes something in you release in relief to see him back to his natural ‘charming’ self. “All right, cards on the table. We’re mercenaries.”

Nia starts to sputter in confusion, and you shake your head quickly, gratefully falling back beside her with as little obvious haste as you can manage.

“We’re in the employ of Lord Kelvin Gillbottle of Whitetower,” Mal’s still seamlessly going as smoothly as you had, if not one better. “You do know Lord Kelvin, I presume?”

“I- yes, yes of course,” Baldur says stiffly at once, frowning as if just remembering Mal existed.

“He had a delicate matter he needed taken care of,” Mal waves his hand flippantly. “Some compromising letters were stolen. He hired us to get the letters back, delicately.” He even claps a fond hand on your shoulder, and you resist the urge to bury yourself alive at the hole you dug for yourself as Mal finishes smoothly. “With the matter done, we were supposed to meet up with Goffrey of Whittower somewhere around here to trade for our reward.”

“Mercenaries you say?” Baldur takes the lot of you in again with vague understanding. “That means you can fight?”

… as if you hadn’t just saved his hide to be having this conversation?! How thick could one get?!

“Damn right,” Imtura’s finally swallowed that little fit of hers and says it with her usual pride. You resist the urge to slink behind her and never speak again honestly.

“Then perhaps we may find ourselves in a mutually beneficial situation,” Baldur says with the kind of brilliant, self-made smirk of only one who has never had an original thought in his head can have. “Given that we lost most of our party and our gear, Aerin and I need to resupply at Undermount before we get back to the hunt. We could use some extra blades on the way there. If you’re willing, you'd be rewarded handsomely. What do you say?” He concludes with a grand gesture at the world at large.

You all trade a look with Mal, some more vexed than others (Tyril), but your thief dons an easy grin and is quick to play along. “Make it 20 gold each, and we’re in business.”

“20 gold?!” Baldur snaps, fingers itching back for his blade at once. “I’m a prince! I could order you if I wanted-”

“20 gold pieces each sounds more than reasonable,” Aerin smoothly cuts in. “We accept your offer.”

You blink in fascination at the pair of princes, still feeling a bit small and out of your element as you have only the vaguest of a concept what that amount of gold is really worth. A house? A kingdom? A good meal?

“Perfect!” Mal claps his hands together jovially. “Now if you don’t mind, we’ll just grab our things and be on our way.”

Leaving the two to collect themselves, you and your companions return to the lodge to collect the rest of your own belongings.

“Mal!” Nia yelps, standing hesitantly in the entrance and looking from them to him. “What were you thinking, lying to the princes like that?”

“I’m sorry Priestess,” Mal says without a single sorry in his tone. “Should I have told them the truth? That we’re fugitives wanted for the murder of the mayor in Port Parnassus?”

You blink in surprise, honestly almost having forgotten about that in the storm of everything else that had followed.

“Perhaps we can avoid the whole truth, but, these men are your monarchs. This conduct feels exploitative,” Tyril says a tad uneasily, looking more at Nia than Mal with his own sympathy for the position she was in.

“Yeah, it’s because we’re exploiting them,” Imtura snorts.

“She gets it,” Mal gives her an affectionate smile Imtura quickly returns. That is an entire other basket of jealousy to deal with much later.

You can’t help but side with Nia and Tyril here at the wrongness of it at minimum, if not the danger in the future. “Sooner or later Mal, they are going to find out you’re lying. I mean, what happens when they get back to Whitetower and talk to Lord Kelvin Gillbottle?”

Mal gives you a look of pity. “That would imply that Lord Kelvin Gillbottle actually exists.”

“That, that’s even worse!” Nia gasps, her voice uncomfortably loud as your eyes dart unpleasantly past her.

“Relax, would you?” Mal rolls his hand through the air like he’s hiding a card up his sleeve. “By the time the fancypants brothers make it back to Whitetower, we’ll be long gone, our pockets heavy with gold!”

“And what of honor and decency? Do you not care about that?” Tyril asks with frost in his tone.

“I’m honorable to those who honor me, Blue,” Mal gives him a wink. “And you’d better believe that nobles like that would string me up in a heartbeat if they knew who I really was.”

That is uncomfortably true, and you frown anxiously at Mal, wondering vaguely if you should start calling him a false name or something for the duration of this trip. Gartho would suit him well.

But he’s already got his bag back on his shoulder and is looking to get back on the road with one last roll of his eyes at all of you. He knows what he’s doing.

You feel an unpleasant prickling sensation as you remember the blade he’s carrying too, and the vow you’d made to that voxper. He was dead, you firmly chastise yourself. Vow done! Nothing you can do about it now… unless this Goffrey did have family at Whitetower of course. Then you’d be happy to finish this!

Besides, that Baldur certainly doesn’t deserve it! You sigh loudly before the two of them can escalate into an argument. “Either way, the deal’s already been made. Let’s pack our bags and hope it works.” You pause, and look around, feeling like you’re forgetting something… “Hey, has anyone seen Threep?” You ask blankly as you look at the empty fireplace.

“Here,” he calls from underneath a bed in one of the far off rooms. “Are those bugs gone?”

…

The seven of you begin the next leg of your journey through the Deadwood, you walking beside Nia behind the rest of the group. When you’re out of earshot, Threep pokes his head out of the bag. “I suppose this little ruse with the princes means I must stay in here?” He grumbles like a kid in timeout.

“Sorry,” you croon gently, scratching his head. “It’s to keep us safe. Hopefully it won’t last much longer.”

He huffs but burrows himself back inside Nia’s pack, with her sighing right along with him. She looks around at the trees, her expression lingering sadness and thoughtfulness. “It’s so strange,” she murmurs, “if you look just right, you can almost see how beautiful these woods must have been once.”

“Not just beautiful,” Tyril agrees, easily overhearing and glancing back at the pair of you without missing a step. “Marvelous and magical. The most sacred and glorious place in the world. Lost now, to shadow and ruin.” The sadness in his voice is so familiar to you by now, you wonder if he’s carried it all his life.

“That’s just terrible,” Aerin says, walking rather closer to you than you’d expect as he begins slowing his tread.

You peer into the thick of the dead trees, their branches twisted against an eerie sky still. “These woods can be redeemed,” you say with fervent hope, brushing your hand over a trunk as you pass. “If they were beautiful once, then they can be made beautiful again.”

“Do you really think that’s possible?” Aerin asks you with wide-eyed hope.

“I do,” you agree, smiling back.

“Then I do as well!” Nia beams. “And I’m happy to contribute in whatever way I can!”

Aerin clears his throat at those words and glances on ahead in a very unsubtle fashion. “I would like to apologize for my brother, he’s a little-”

“Despicable?” Tyril happily offers with his usual grace.

“I’d be lying if I said this was the first time I’d heard that,” Aerin actually laughs in agreement.

“At least Mal’s taking him off our hands for now,” Imtura chuckles.

Up ahead, Baldur walks with Mal, a hand clasped around Mal’s shoulder. “So there I am, in the middle of the slums, drunk as a devil, trousers around my ankles, and all the slum girls are staring at me like, well, you know how they’re staring, am I right?”

Mal forces a smile, but as Baldur prattles on, he turns to look at the rest of you, mouthing forlornly, “help me.”

You honestly wish you could, no grievance he’s ever given you really deserved such a punishment, but honestly, you were a little traumatized to go back near Baldur any time soon.

Besides, your pity doesn’t lie just with your friend as you look from Baldur, to Aerin. “Is your brother always like this?” You truly can barely wrap your head around them. You knew of course not all siblings were as close as you and Kade, there had been plenty in the village who couldn’t stand to be in the same room… but still, it was surprisingly brutal to you to see after being apart from him for so long now.

“Oh no,” Aerin says pleasantly, “usually he’s far worse.”

Tyril sighs, and somehow or another, decides to take pity on the situation. He goes up and says something to the pair, and then drags Mal off up ahead, but whatever they’re doing couldn’t be as bad as what they were leaving behind as Baldur calls after them he’d keep watch here and pompously marches on.

“I could have gotten out of that myself you know,” Mal tells him, holding a branch out of his way now that they were far enough ahead, they really might as well scout around.

“Oh, I’m so sure.” Tyril says without batting an eye. “You have exactly one skill, and it’s driving people to insanity. I think we’ve enough problems in this accursed forest without subjecting some human prince to that.”

“I was just seeing which of my so called friends was going to come to my rescue,” Mal continued blithely as if there had been no response. “Kit’s got that little kid back around him five seconds and he’s already abandoning me, the traitor.”

“I’m sure Aerin will be a great influence on him,” Tyril agrees beneath the sarcasm, walking lightly past the branch at last with a nod of thanks. There’s a long moment of silence, before Tyril finally asks of him, “tell me something. Syrum speaks often of his human brother, but not of the rest of his town. He’s said they treated him fairly, but, I must wonder at how he truly views other humans, considering what just happened with his princes.”

“His princes, I wouldn’t say that for certain,” Mal snorts. “You expected him to bow too,” Mal nods in agreement. “Yeah, kind of surprised me too, should have seen those kids when they met Threep.”

Tyril just walks beside him in silence until Mal grumbles but answers with a shrug, “far as I can tell they were decent to him. You remember the two he mentioned who died at the Temple before they found me again, well I asked Grenn what the heck an elf kid was doing in their village walking and talking like them. She told me the same story he’s told you, that flood, poof, shiny new orphan.” There had been a part of him, a very small ignorable part there's no telling if he would have acted on anymore, to go back and offer the kit a trip to Undermount. Just to see if he'd do it. No telling how that would have turned out now, he laughed at himself.

Mal can feel the anger radiating off of him by the end, and blinks at him strangely. “What? You think he’s hiding some deep horror story about a po-dunk place like Riverbend giving him lashings in the street?”

“Not, exactly,” Tyril’s posture looks painfully straight, the way he angles himself not to look at Mal as they walk together.

“Well, spit it out then,” Mal sniffs.

Tyril sighs, and does not ‘spit it out,’ thank you. His tone is still more rough than he usually allows though. “It angers me to see him so, ignorant. I have never been around someone like him, who walks and talks like a human so often."

"Well I'm pretty grateful for it," Mal smirks. "Nice to meet someone like him who doesn't walk around with a stick up his ass. Maybe a few of you elves could take a lesson or two from him. Don't try to change him now, gods forbid."

Tyril easily ignores the interruption, trying to explain himself, the anger he didn't mean to keep showing to Syrum. "I don’t know how to- and well, I blame that town of his. Not a one of those people considered returning him to Undermount?”

Mal’s laugh was deeply unfunny. “Shows how much you know of a little place like Riverbend. I guarantee you the thought never crossed their mind. The farthest any of those people had ever been from their little huts in the mud was Port Parnassus before I showed up, and that’s a good few days by wagon to trade goods and go back home.”

“They knew some elvish, they named him as such, they had to know Undermount existed-”

“Oh, I’m sure they did,” Mal nods in vague agreement. “That old lady who nursed the boys apparently had an elf friend in her youth and everything, they knew you existed! No, I mean they were as likely to make that kind of journey as you would to hold Baldur and Aerin’s hand back to their kingly daddy rather than leave them in this forest.”

“It’s not the same, those boys came out here of their own volition-”

“Look, Tyril, I’m just saying, don’t take it out on those people anymore than you would Syrum. I know people like that, they did the best they could for him, hell, better than a lot of kids like him got in this world. It’s nobody’s fault. Bad shit happens. You roll with the punches or you stay down. That kid’s still rolling, and he’s damn good at it.” Mal sighs, looking at him with a strange smile.

“Roll with the punches,” he repeats back strangely. “Yes, very well. I take your meaning.” He pauses suddenly, head tipped to the side, frowning. “I sense something.”

“But, you’re okay for a princling!” Imtura says, frowning between the pair as strangely as he keeps eyeing her. “How in the seas did he turn out like, that?”

You wonder if she sees any of herself in Baldur and how she might turn out if she follows her mothers wishes.

Aerin heaves a sigh, as if this were not the first time he’d answered this question. “All his life, Baldur’s been told he’s destined for the crown. He acts as though he’s invincible, because he is. It’s not just that he’s the oldest. He’s also the favorite. Handsome, bold, outgoing, a great hunter and a warrior… nothing like me,” he finishes in a small voice.

You hate to see him so low on himself. You willingly admit to yourself you’re projecting as you stare at this little brother, bookish and a little squirrely, but obviously has a good heart. “Hey, you should be glad you won’t be king,” you offer with a friendly nudge and a wink at Imtura.

“I suppose there’s a relief in not dealing with the burdens of power,” Aerin gives you a strange, restless shrug. “At worst, I’ll end up on his council as one of the many advisers he won’t listen to,” he admits to himself cheerfully though.

“How, reassuring,” you sort of want to laugh, but honestly that’s a depressing thought all its own.

“I’ll do what I can to keep him from harming the kingdom too much,” Aerin insists with a playful grin at you. “And at least I’ll have my books. I love reading of all the realms, even if I rarely get the chance to visit them!”

Your laugh sounds a bit hollow, but you hope he doesn’t notice as you squeeze the strap of your bag. Oh gods, the stories you could tell of how the world really was… but that pain only lodges deep in your heart as you firmly remind yourself better start getting some story straight. Kade’s not going to rest until he hears it all one day.

You march on, the path growing steeper as it winds into the mountains that conceal the elven city. But as you round a corner, Tyril throws up a hand. “Wait. I sense something up ahead.” He and Mal have stayed up at the front, just out of sight before this. Now, you all come upon him brushing aside thick leaves of a path, revealing-

His gasp is sharp enough to know you were certainly looking at something more impressive than another crumbling old house. “It’s a temple of the Old Gods!” Tyril murmurs in reverence. “This is ancient, from before the Great War!”

“Looks like a bunch of broken rocks to me,” Baldur scoffs.

“Hardly brother,” Aerin shakes his head, tapping his chin with interest. “It’s clearly a historical relic. Who knows what lays preserved in there!”

“I can sense power inside,” Nia says with awe of her own, holding her hand out with interest towards the place. “I think it’s the Light calling to me…”

Well that sort of creeped you out after you found out it also had a tendency to drain her like a bloodsquid.

“I would like to explore these ruins,” Tyril said succinctly, little room in his voice for argument. “There may be something of great value inside.”

“I’ll go with you!” Nia says in excitement. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing a temple like this!” You can’t help but give her a side-look at the last temple the two of you had been in together, but she just gives you a brilliant smile.

Mal snorts. “Now who wants to wander off!” Before Tyril can even give him his level-best glare, Mal’s already raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, I suppose the rest of us could use a chance to rest.”

“Will you accompany us Syrum?” Tyril turns away from him, and you're floored at the invitation as he meets your eyes. “This is just as much for you. We could always use another set of eyes on our search as well.”

“Y-yeah!” You stutter without hesitation. “Let’s do it! I am in, let us check this place out!”

He smiles, and you smile back, pathetically glad you don’t have a tail right now at the excitement coursing through you. “Have fun!” Imtura calls to your retreating forms, throwing herself onto the ground and stretching out.

You only glance back once out of pity to see Baldur sidling back up to Mal for another chat… but you’re pretty sure they all won’t kill each other until you get back…

The three of you approach the temple. It’s a worn down ruin, overgrown in pulsing ivy, but even here, you can sense its ancient majesty, an electric tingle of dormant power. “This old temple’s in pretty bad shape, do either of you see a way in?” You ask, eyeing the pile of, dare you agree with Baldur, nothing but old rubble, broken rocks, and boulders as you get closer. You’re still not even sure what about it drew Tyril’s attention to begin with.

“It looks like there are two possible entrances, but they’re both partially collapsed. I’ll check out the front entrance,” Tyril says.

“I've got the one on the right!” Nia says brightly. “Syrum?”

OR BOLAS OR

You blink, and glance uneasily at the two. “You’re sure you should be going off alone Nia?” You can’t help but ask in concern. Any manner of things could happen to her…

“Well I wouldn’t be going alone if you came with me now would I?” She laughs, already turning away whether you agreed or not.

You give Tyril an apologetic smile and gesture to her retreating form. He nods in agreement, probably best to keep an eye on her. “Good plan, you two should stick together.” Without another word, he leaps gracefully down the crumbling stones leading to the front entrance.

Nia smiles at you. “I can feel that there’s something special here, it’s almost calling to me.”

Yeah, that’s still a little creepy, but you grin at her all the same because this really was her kind of thing. “Then let’s go find it.”

You and Nia enter the ruin and make your way through a crumbling passageway that you both can just barely squeeze through. How did the two of you keep ending up in these situations? “So, this palace is really two thousand years old?” You prompt, eyeing every crevice of the walls of this land with at least the vague interest your past felt was due.

Nia’s gazing around awestruck. “I don’t know, I’ve never been in a place like this-”

There’s a loud cracking noise from above, and some chunks of masonry break off and plummet right towards her!

Swiftly you lunge, tackling her out of the way, the two of you stumbling and falling down against the wall farther into the passageway as the rocks cascade in a hail of death. “Oh, Syrum! You saved me,” she gasps, heart rattling in her chest as she clings tightly to you and peers around in a sadly familiar look of horror.

“It was nothing,” you smile reluctantly, your own heart can’t stop shaking if she’d come down here alone. “Quick reflexes.”

She lingers close, smiling into your eyes, but then sheepishly looks away, ducking out of your arms and clearing her throat. “I guess we should be a little more careful going forward.”

With a pang of guilt, you vaguely still wonder about that dance you’d shared so long ago… gods you hope she didn’t have a crush on you you couldn’t reciprocate.

As she picks her way over the fallen rocks, she steeples her fingers and releases a handful of small golden lights.

“How much of your life did you lose just now for that?” You can’t help but blurt out.

“Not much,” she’s still casually insisting, still as quick to smile as ever. “Believe me Syrum, I’ve trained to maximize the impact of my Light. And it feels right to use it to help.”

You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I do believe you, of course. I’m sorry. You’re really special, you know that Nia?”

“You certainly make me feel that way,” she giggles with a shy smile at you, then gasps as she sees a room that the falling rocks revealed now in full view from her little orbs.

You’re almost relieved to have her scamper away for a moment without a glance back as you stand rooted to the spot in misery of no way to respond to that, your lips tingling as you remember your previous night with Imtura… and you just can’t do it. Can’t picture Nia’s soft, slim body giving you the same feeling you craved right now-

“Syrum! Get in here, look at this!”

Ducking inside, you see her standing in fascination in front of an altar covered in ancient, half-melted candles before you. There’s enormous statues as tall as the ceiling in different poses at each corner of the wide open room as large and grand nearly the size of Riverbend itself. Steps lead down to a pit in the middle that is empty. All along the walls are tables and chairs of solid gold.

“This must be the inner sanctum of the temple!” Nia’s all but gasping in delight. You’ve never seen her eyes so greedy to take in every crevice of the place at once.

“I’ll light the rest of the candles,” you swiftly offer, already seeing her eyes on those braziers. “I’ve got flint and steel, you save your Light.” As you reach in your pack, Nia takes another step in all the same- Just then, a warm, gentle breeze comes from out of nowhere.

As it passes through Nia, she glimmers with a brief golden aura. It fades as quickly as the breeze, but the candles and torches in the sanctum suddenly flicker to life.

… “Did you do that?!” You yelp, but a part of you already knows the answer. You’d felt what her magic was like personally.

“No, I didn’t do anything!” She yelps right back. “It just, felt like, it felt like the temple recognized me. Like it was saying, hello.”

“The Light must still be so strong here that it reacted to the Light you emanate,” you gasp right along with her at the magic in this world, this room, coming right off of her.

“I can’t believe it,” she looks near tears of joy. “In the middle of these woods, where the Light is so weak, there are still pockets where it shines as radiantly as ever before!”

“Let’s just hope that the sentient temple doesn't mean us any harm,” you can’t help but rain on her parade, but well, you’ve had some pretty mixed experiences with magic lately.

“I have a good feeling that the temple’s friendly,” she giggles. “But even if it wasn’t, I know you’d protect me. I, I always feel so safe around you Syrum.”

Your heart melts at that. “I always feel safe around you too Nia. You really do mean so much to me, I’ve never had, friends, before. Kade and me, you know, we were all each other had for so long. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

Her smile lights her up from within as if a spell all it’s own, and she throws her arms around you in a tight hug. “I guess that means you intend to stick around for a while?”

You laugh in surprise, and hug her back tight. Whatever had made her think otherwise? “I’m here whenever you need me, as long as you want. I’ll protect you from whatever I have to.”

She presses her face tight into your shoulder for a moment with a ragged breath before pulling back. “Thank you. I feel stronger every day I’m with you, you always chase away any doubts there are to have.” An echo of that golden aura in the room lingers around her, making your breath catch in wonder at her beauty.

But she steps out of your arms now without any more hesitation, smiling just to smile as usual now. “We should try to find Tyril, show him this place.”

“Of course,” you agree, looking all around. “He’ll go crazy seeing this, he might even smile if we’re lucky.”

Nia giggles in agreement, and as if summoned out of the shadows, Tyril’s padding his way inside, a smile indeed on the corner of his lips as he sees the two of you. “Glad I found you, my way was a dead end. What-”

But he stops, and stares. You’ve never seen such a wild look of awe pass over him as his eyes take in every corner of the room.

OR BOLAS OR

You blink, and glance uneasily at the two. “You’re sure you should be going off alone Nia?” You can’t help but ask in concern. Any manner of things could happen to her…

She puffs out a bit of air and gives you a pout. “I’m perfectly capable you know! I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I-” you break off and wince. “Okay, yeah, I apologize. Shout, if, you need us? I will, go check out the front with Tyril, I know you’ve got whatever you find.”

“I will. Let me know if you two find anything interesting!” She gives you a smile and skips off. It hurts to see her go off alone… but you admit to yourself it’s not fair not to trust her if she says otherwise… past evidence to the contrary…

“She’ll be fine,” Tyril promises, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “She has more training than you at sensing the powers in this place.”

“Right,” you mutter with a wince, quickly looking away. Who’s the idiot who needed a babysitter now?

“I-” Tyril drops his hands, and for the first time, looks truly awkward. “I didn’t mean mean it like that, Syrum, I-”

“Come on, we’ve got ruins to explore,” you remind not unkindly but more than happy to change the subject as you head towards the slim bit of a gap he’d called an entrance at the front.

He follows you through, and the two of you make your way side by side through the crumbling passageway. It’s surprisingly open in here, wide arches lining the corridor. You feel humbled and deeply in love with everything your eyes land on, taking it all in at least three times as you slowly walk on to the next thing. Tyril waits patiently, moving at your pace, taking it in as equally as you, if not as slack jawed when you catch sight of him on your slow revolving steps.

You can’t help but stare at the scenery before you, the tragic ruins and the haunting beauty of a place long abandoned as your eyes wander between him and those patterns you can barely discern in the dust. “So, this place is really two thousand years old?” You murmur.

Tyril runs a hand along a wall, his fingertips coming back coated in dust. “Possibly older. It-” he freezes at a loud cracking noise from above, and some chunks of masonry break off and plummet right towards him as he looks everywhere else for the threat.

Swiftly you lunge, tackling him out of the way, the two of you stumbling and falling down against the wall farther into the passageway as the rocks cascade in a hail of death.

“What-”

Tyril is overwhelmed, snatching you close, throwing his armored arm over your head and apparently still processing what had just happened as the rocks finish their crash to the ground where he had just been standing a moment ago with a look of shock.

“Ah. I see.” He says in a soft, clipped voice, same as ever. If not for the tense strain in his neck you were pressed against, you wouldn’t have known he was phased at all.

“You okay?” You ask, pulling back, peeking up at him. “Wouldn’t want any rocks messing up your noble visage.” You grin.

He nods gravely and lingers a moment in your arms before cleaning his throat and pulling away, but giving you an unmistakable look. “Thank you, Syrum. It appears you, ah, rescued me. You didn’t have to do that.” He concludes with an odd frown. Not at you. At himself, for needing you.

You fight back a smile. “Tyril, you’re just going to have to get used to the idea of people caring about you.”

The severity of his words shocks you as he all but hurls back, “you would do well to keep your distance. I avoid attachments for a reason.”

You flinch and step quickly as far back as you can. Regret floods his face. He opens his mouth, but you’re already turning away, refusing to let yourself brush at the lingering dust in the air that was making your throat tight. Yeah, he’d made that pretty clear who he selected could be close to him and you obviously didn’t qualify-

“Syrum,” he grasps your shoulder, halting you with that one touch. You sigh and resist the urge to jerk your shoulder away. What else could he possibly want? “I-” but before he can say anything else, his eyes catch on what he spots beyond the wall that had just caved in. “Syrum! Look at this, it’s the inner sanctum of the temple! It’s almost perfectly intact!”

He’s scrambling inside, now leaving you as the one to blink at what just happened as he darts off. You follow without hesitation and enter a room lit up by slanting sunbeams breaking through holes in the ceiling. An altar covered in ancient, half-melted candles stands before you. There’s enormous statues as tall as the ceiling in different poses at each corner of the wide open room as large and grand nearly the size of Riverbend itself. Steps lead down to a pit in the middle that is empty. All along the walls are tables and chairs of solid gold.

“This is incredible.” He gasps, the same deep love Nia still carries in herself for the Light now prevalent in him. “I wonder if…” he trails off and makes a hand gesture. A dozen tiny globules of fire fan out from his fingertips, hovering in the air before alighting on the wicks of the candles on the altar.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp, your hands buzzing with energy and your own fire to see such a display. “It’s like this place was never abandoned!”

“Some never abandoned the Old Gods,” he agreed, and from the weight he carries in those words, you finally suspect you know where he stands on that. “I’m gratified to find a place that holds their memory.”

You glance curiously at the orbs of light he created and back at him though. “What is it about our magic and Nia’s that’s so different exactly? Because we live longer? Won’t you shave down your life to under a hundred years if you keep doing that?”

His eyes settle on you with that patient, but zealous tutelage of last night as he firmly instructs, “we teach our magic so as to use as little of our life force as possible each time, to maximize its effect and pull from very specific aspects of our self. It is something we are made to understand as soon as we can form constructs of thought Syrum. Nia, whoever taught her, they-” he stops, and harshly clears his throat this time. “It is not my place to undermine her way of life. My point is, you would do well to consider this going forward, they are not the same way of doing things.”

“Yeah, I got that,” you assure, casting your eyes back around for a change of subject. You’re still not even sure where you sit on the issue.

OR BOLAS OR

You look from the deep love on his face as he continues taking in the room, follow his line of sight… and can’t really grasp what it is he’s seeing besides a big room full of stuff. “Tyril, you never said why you avoid attachments.”

“I have a mission. That comes first,” he says, stiff, crossing his arms, now looking deliberately away from you more than at the room.

“Yes, but we’re on this mission together now. I’m here with you.” You feel like a dick reminding him of this, but a part of you does constantly wonder if he’s surprised you’re even still there when he looks over just to make sure your satchel is still present. “Like it or not, you have attachments. And you don’t have to be alone.”

“Maybe it would be better if I was,” he still says with billigrance… but there’s a sadness to his eyes, gentling his words so he doesn’t sound like a complete dick himself as he does glance at you. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about evil, it’s that it will use your connections against you. Caring is a liability in this fight.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask with a deep, sad frown at his view of the world you no longer really want to understand.

“I know it to be true,” he says bluntly, but his own frown in place. “And in case you were wondering, no, I don’t care to elaborate. Not yet.”

“Of course. I don’t mean to pry,” you say hastily.

He turns away, but you hear him speak softly, almost a whisper. “Thank you for asking.” He grants you a sincere smile when he looks back, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. “I’m glad I got to discover such a special place, with you.”

OR BOLAS OR

You look from the deep love on his face as he continues taking in the room, follow his line of sight… and can’t really grasp what it is he’s seeing besides a big room full of stuff. “It’s nice to see you look happy.”

He blinks, and stares around at you with a renewed frown as if he’d forgotten you were there, what just happened. “Oh, ah, is that so unexpected?”

Something about his truly baffled expression puts you more at ease as you smile and shrug. “Brooding is kind of your style. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’ve had my fair share. But, you’ve got a nice smile, and you deserve moments of happiness.”

Something in him eases, melts, as he gives you that lingering smile in full bright light. “Maybe I’ll have more of those moments. If you’re here to remind me.”

Gods being friends with him was like whiplash. But there’s a deep sincerity in his tone, he really does mean it. “Every chance I get,” you promise.

He grants you another sincere smile, more relaxed than you've ever seen him. “I’m glad I got to discover such a special place, with you.”

“Yeah?” You ask in surprise. “This is a pretty prefect moment. Two elves, digging up ancient elf secrets.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, and something sturdier returns to his face, settling him back into that cautious man you’ve grown so used to seeing, but his smile does linger. “Syrum, I do not mean to be so harsh with you. I understand you are, well, that I am…”

You just watch him with a miserable pit in your stomach as he trails off awkwardly, his hands clearly wishing to fidget for his sword, but not finishing the motion. He was too controlled to do something like fidget. You’re well aware what he’s apologizing for, but you can’t help him out anymore than you can bring yourself to apologize for it yourself. “It’s fine,” you try to brush off. “I get it-”

“It’s not fine,” Tyril says hastily. “You’ve been through a great ordeal Syrum, since your birth, and I haven’t exactly lived up to my promise, my vow I gave you I’d try to help. I have not, intentionally, been making this whole, situation we’ve found ourselves in, harder on you. I- I merely-”

“It’s not your responsibility to hold my hand,” you briskly insist, cutting your eyes awkwardly to a beautiful plush rug and back, shifting your weight awkwardly and wishing for him to drop it. You’d never have his elfine control of not being able to fidget… it was the human in you. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll get Kade back and go back to Riverbend and we won’t be each other's problem anymore.”

“But I don’t-” Tyril stops himself though, and sighs. There’s a lot packed into that sigh. Whatever set him out away from Undermount, whatever caused him to be, like this… it ate at him every day as much as your brother's absence did to you. Who were you to judge if he needed some space and didn’t want to foster you under his wing every step of the way?

Before you could insist you’re fine, again, and then mentally smack yourself for repeating yourself too much, Tyril squares his shoulders and says firmly, “I, would like to consider us friends, Syrum, at least. Whatever the outcome at the end of this journey is, you have earned my respect ten fold. You are a man of your word, you are kind. I am honored to be doing this with you… two elves, saving the world, and digging up ancient elf secrets,” he tries to smile, but stops and coughs awkwardly. “Plus others, I mean, of course Imtura and Nia and Mal are vital, well, Mal is a bit-”

You can’t help but snort and burst out laughing amid your glowing pride for his words. He grins faintly in return. “I consider us friends too,” you quickly agree. “Plus others.” You can’t help but add on with a lingering grin, one he gratefully returns. “Speaking of, I do hope Nia is okay.” It’s an obvious change of subject, but one he readily agrees with as he nods and looks around.

“Absolutely. I may disapprove of how freely she expands her Light, but she may be the only other one who understands and appreciates what this palace represents to me.”

“She’s gonna love this,” you agree, already perfectly imagining her lurid pink dress darting around like a child exclaiming her new present to the whole town.

Together, you both shout her name in hopes she’s close enough to hear… and your answer is a joyful cry back. Before you know it, you hear her rapid footsteps, and you can tell by their pat-pat she’s running towards you, not away from something by her sheer presence of radiance she always carries with her when she’s happy. When she shortly joins you by rounding the corner past the rocks with not even a second later, she’s marveling at the room right along with you both.

“This place is incredible!” Tyril was right on the money at her gasping for every little thing. “I can’t believe it’s still so intact! The other passage led to a dead end!”

“Tyril thinks it’s the inner sanctum of the temple. Imagine what it used to look like in its prime,” you agree with their excitement on principle at least, still struggling to imagine a room full of elves at all, let alone them bustling around about gods you could barely remember the name of unless you were really concentrating.

Nia’s pack wiggles, and Threep emerges, yawning wide. He blinks sleepily. “Are the princes gone yet? I feel a strange energy…” he gasps, his ears perking up, his eyes wide saucers of delight. “Where in the world have you taken me?”

“Oh, you know. Hidden ruins unsullied by the sands of time. Just the regular for us,” you grin.

“I’d like to think the Light protected this room from crumbling,” Nia says in wonderment, she can’t seem to stop herself moving with joy from one object to the next. She now has a little companion as invigorated as she is at her hip, not to mention Tyril’s proud smile upon her every step. “It just shows you can find the Light anywhere if you look!”

“It certainly used to be that way,” something of Tyril’s frown makes a reappearance, making him seem as ancient as that old golden plate the torches are gleaming off of. “Light flowed through the world as freely as the air we breathe.” He traces his hands along the wall, and Threep flutters onto his shoulder. Now there was a sight you surprisingly hadn’t seen yet. A solemness falls around the two of them.

You can see elegant murals painted across the walls, dazzling scenes of elves long-gone, dancing in the light. Much like your new bow, if you stare at them and blink it almost appears as if they’re really moving.

“In the days before the Great War, the elves lived in majesty and wonder, a glorious civilization that spanned the world.” Tyril’s voice is an ancient wonder, the kind of weight even Kade’s could never hold for telling a story that had such personal stakes.

“I remember,” Threep whispers in solemn agreement. “Their cities reached into the skies. Their gardens grew wide as forests.”

“They lived peacefully, at one with the magic that flows through us all.” Tyril says with the harsh finality of the world you currently knew, his resentment for a world he’d never known evident.

“And then the Shadow Court came,” you can’t help but echo, your sense of deja vu weighing on you as heavy as your satchel as if you were still laughing along with Kade… but no more of that would be happening any time soon. Not with this ‘story.’

“A dozen elves, and they doomed us all,” Tyril said so bitterly, it was a wonder frost wasn’t upon his breath. “A secret council of powerful mages who sought forbidden power, mastery over life and death itself. In pursuit of this power, they cut a hole in reality itself, and found another world beyond. The Realm of Shadow. A place of darkness and monsters, ruled over by an unfathomable ancient evil…”

“The Dreadlord…” Nia finishes for him this time, your voice, your memories too thick to manage it, as if he’d needed the assistance from the both of you at all. You wonder if he thinks you don’t know the story, if this is for you, or himself, to never forget.

“The creatures of shadow invaded our world, and thus began the Great War, a war that spanned a century, that drenched the world in blood.” His hand is a fist now resting upon the mural.

“How did it end?” You ask, a flutter of amazement maring your words at a new detail you can’t quite strangle from your words. This was the part Kade always used to laugh, and make up… or you’d been thrown out of the bar long before now of course. “How did they win the first time?”

“No one knows,” Tyril sighs, his hand smoothing out to run the tips of his fingers over the wall, pressing his palm in tight as if trying to peel answers from the earth. “That story is lost to history. All we know is that the council of elves made one last heroic stand on the Field of Talenor. When the battle was done, the Realm of Shadow was sealed, and the denizens of the Shadow Court with it. And the elven civilization was destroyed.”

You shiver, unable to decide if that was tragic… or inspiring. You try your best to articulate both concepts.

OR BOLAS OR

“That’s so, tragic,” you whisper for the story that had never been more than just a story for so long in your life… you can’t even remember the first time you’d heard it anymore it was just, so, common.

“Indeed,” Threep murmurs, wings drooping as much as his ears, his tail, he’s never looked so small since you first found him.

“A tragedy carved deep in the bones of our people.” Tyril agrees. “Even now, two thousand years later, that loss, that destruction, is a weight we carry on our shoulders every single day.” The way he slipped into the plural was probably natural to him. The way you wonder with guilt if that was the great distance between you two is something to dissect for another day as you, don’t. You'd always known yourself as an outsider among humans… but you didn’t suddenly, intrinsically feel responsible either for some doomed planet you had once ignorantly lived happily in.

Tyril looks around the great chamber, and for a moment it feels like he’s far away from you… and then he shakes his head clear.

OR BOLAS OR

“That’s so, inspiring,” you try to somehow explain, knowing instantly the two think your nuts, and you don’t care. “In the face of insurmountable evil and darkness, the ancient elves stood strong and won. I find hope in that.”

“No matter the darkness, the Light always finds a way through,” Nia gets it, of course. She steps up beside you and threads her arm through yours with the same smile as always for sharing in that hope with you.

Tyril pauses, then nods. “It does.”

“It must,” Threep echoes.

Tyril looks around the great chamber, and for a moment it feels like he’s far away from you… and then he shakes his head clear. “Now then, we should probably get back.” He trails off as his hand stops on a stone slab. He stares at it for a moment thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Threep peers curiously down from his shoulder.

“These words, written in the ancient tongue…” he pauses and mouths them to himself for a moment before saying, “ IIdar dravulis, mitar mordala?”

And as he speaks, the stone pops open, revealing a hidden compartment. “Whoa!” You yelp, starling automatically, unsure whether to run for your life or towards Tyril for another rescue.

“It meant, ‘The Worthy Shall Find Their Gift Within’?” He doesn’t seem to believe his own tongue, he hasn’t moved.

“So? What’s inside?” Nia asks, already leaning forward eagerly to see.

He reaches in and removes a small orb, pulsing with dazzling white light. It fits snugly in the palm of his hand, and seems to swirl with something ancient trapped within… wind, or fog, moving sluggish, but noticeably.

You cringe and resist the urge to slap him, or the orb away at Tyril touching that with his bare hand. “What is it?” You ask, only stopping yourself from the look of yearning in Tyril’s eyes as he cups it closer with both hands, trembling the tiniest bit.

“It, can’t be…” Threep gasps, wings jutting out to slap you for him. Tyril doesn’t even seem to notice as the nesper repositions himself in excitement with a little trill.

“A Sphere of Dan’taelyn. A weapon of the old war… incredibly powerful…” Tyril’s eyes might fall out of his head soon. You’re just grateful he’s translating enough to keep up with their shock and awe.

“There’s a storm of pure magic raging inside there!” Nia gasps, nearly pressing her nose against the glass eagerly.

“Do you want it?” He asks her, his fingers flexing over the little ball, but holding it towards her respectfully. You have no idea of the significance of the gesture, but smile all the same at how much he’d truly meant it before. He did respect all of your friends equally, you’d always known that.

“No,” Nia bites her lip, but shakes her head at once. “You’d better hold onto it. You know how to use battle magic better than I do.”

Tyril nods and slides the orb carefully into his satchel.

“Do you think the temple wanted us to find it?” You ask, gazing around at that hole in the wall again with a raised brow. This day had gone pretty perfectly…

“I do now,” Tyril says with a winning smile at you.

“Undoubtedly!” Threep agrees, his wings still fluttering with excitement. He takes off and lands back in Nia’s arms, only to burrow back out of sight with happy little trills as if all this had been more than enough for a catnap. Together, you make your way out of the temple.

“Hey Tyril,” you say as you hear the others and give him a grin, you can’t shake the elated mood you now all carried, and you hope he doesn’t want to either. “Look at that, not a drop of blood in sight.” You spread your arms wide to prove your point.

To your astonishment, he throws his head back and laughs. Then he gently reaches over and ruffles your hair. The affectionate gesture leaves you stunned speechless. “That’s because you had me there. I always told Mal he was the trouble maker.”

“I heard that!” Mal calls, and you both can’t stop chuckling as you rejoin them all. “Well, did you find anything?” He asks eagerly.

“More than you can imagine,” Tyril says, nearly floating on air he was so buoyant.

Mal blinks, clearly never having seen him so happy anymore than the rest of you.

Which makes the mood a tad incongruent as you continue walking, pressing further through the Deadwood beyond.

Soon enough, the sun begins to fade again overhead. “We’re almost to Undermount,” Tyril says with a longing sigh ahead, the mountain looming very close in the distance now. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to spend another night in the Deadwood.”

“Will the drakna come again?” Nia asks with a weary look around.

“We’ll set up a secure camp and keep watch. Beyond that, all we can do is pray,” he responds with a smile just for her. She’s quick to do so back and even giggles.

“Is that elf always so cheery?” Baldur scoffs.

“This is him on a good day,” Mal’s mocking assurance and eye roll never wear off.

“So, where do we make camp?” Imtura asks, looking around at the options, but still unpleasantly aware she was out of her element.

“By the water,” you decide.

“What water? I don’t see any-” Baldur begins scathingly.

“Look at the way the foliage is curving,” you pleasantly interrupt as if schooling a child. “It’s drawing toward a water source.”

“You, you can tell that just by looking at it?” He doesn’t seem sure whether he should believe you or if you’re mocking him.

“I know my woods,” you smirk.

“That’s impressive!” Aerin says in delight, clutching your arm. “Please, show us the way.”

Gently extracting your arm and trying not to let a strut show, you lead the group down a steep hill until you reach a break in the trees-

Where you find a tranquil clearing with willowy trees framing a beautiful sparkling lake. It glows shades of purple and blue almost painfully bright after so much darkness of the forest. The trees are still bare, but there’s a feeling in the air here. Another pocket of beauty not yet desecrated.

“Hey, now we’re talking,” Mal grins in relief.

“This is, marvelous!” Aerin’s voice is aquiver with excitement and joy, and you share a grin with him. You’d almost forgotten what experiencing something new could feel like without some accompanying horror… you’re almost taken back to that moment you first saw the ocean and Mal’s kind smile on you. “What is this place?” He’s back to clutching your arm eagerly. “There’s flora blooming all over the ground!”

Tyril dips a hand in the water, and it comes back sparkling with a delicate light. “This lake is rich with magic, a deep rift of the Light. It infuses this whole clearing.”

“It’s beautiful,” Nia sighs, doing a little spin with her fingers extended like a fairy of elden tails about to take flight.

“Eh, not bad,” Imtura grunts, but you muffle a snort at hearing even she’s enthralled. It might not be the ocean, but she knew something amazing when she saw it.

“Will we be safe here Tyril?” You ask hopefully.

“Safer,” he agrees, eyes traveling back up the way you came and giving you a grateful nod.

“Right then, let's pitch the tents,” Mal says with an obvious yawn.

“You must be joking,” Baldur switches his gaze from a nearby log covered in moss to Mal without a change in expression. “I will not partake in something so utterly barbaric.”

“I’ll help!” Aerin gives your arm a little shake. “I love putting things together. I have a particular talent for solving puzzles!”

“You know what, as far as princes go, you’re not half bad,” Mal says with a kind smile on him.

You laugh in agreement as Aerin helps arrange camp while Baldur leans arrogantly against a tree. After your tent is set up, you get up and stretch your legs, and that’s when you notice Imtura.

“Hrah!” She’s off on her own beside the lake, practicing her fighting technique. She moves with an impossible grace as she flows through different stances. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen her do it on your walk to the Deadwood, but it is the first time you really have the courage to go over and talk to her without worrying how she’d laugh at you.

“Woah,” you utter, rather glad you were alone and Aerin had found somewhere else to be at the moment as you flush warm all over for her magnificent form on display.

She catches you watching, and bobs her head with a wink. “See something you like?”

“Every damn day lately,” you say without hesitation. Her grin widens as you walk closer. “What is it that you’re doing exactly?”

“It’s called the Kaytar. The Zephyr and the Boulder forms. It’s the fighting style of all Tal Kaelen orcs.” She says with pride.

“Why Zephyr and Boulder?” You ask, clearly hearing something of significance in there.

“Cuz you’re as intangible as the wind, right up until the moment you SMASH with the force of a boulder,” she waves her fist in the air, her knuckles a moment from your nose. You hadn’t even seen her shift her weight. Your stomach drops, and your blood soars. She tips her head to the side and eyes you. “I could train ya, if you wanted. Show you a move or two again?”

“Yeah?” You agree. “I didn’t embarrass myself to bad last time?”

“If we’re going up against this Shadow Court, you’ll need every advantage you can get,” she says seriously. Okay, but that hadn’t been a no- “Plus, it’d make you the first elf to know the Kaytar, so, consider this a once in a lifetime offer.” She sweetens the pot, having still moved closer.

As if you were even capable of doing anything other than saying, “teach me.” And then, just to sweeten the pot, you can’t help but give her a smile and add, “I do love getting physical.”

She laughed, rotating her jaw around, already brimming with excitement. “You mean I didn’t wear you out last night? I'll have to try harder next time…” she reaches up and runs her fingers gently against your chin. Your lips part in memory, tingling pleasantly-

“Can’t wait,” you assure around your thundering heart. “Now, let’s see what you got?” As if you weren’t intimately aware of everything she’s got by now…

“All right,” she agrees, snapping back to business and dropping her hand. “First up is the Zephyr form. It’s all about movements, body placement. We orcs are quick on our feet. Makes our size more fearsome.”

“I’ve noticed,” you breathlessly agree.

She gives you a wink, but continues unperturbed. “We live on the water, so we make the fluidity part of our movements. Knowing when to ebb, when to flow. When to move fast, when to move slow.”

“Didn’t take you for a poet,” you admire at the cadence building in her voice, the love pouring into her words. You can only imagine what else she’d learned from Skullcrusher aside from impressive arm wrestling abilities.

Her grin widens at you. “You’ve got a lot to learn about me, landrat. Now, c’mon, let’s get you into a Zephyr stance.”

You imitate the stance she shows you, partially crouching, knees loose, abdomen engaged.

“It’s all about placing your body weight so you can move quick as a breeze.” She nods, circling you. “Pretty good, but lemme make a few adjustments?”

You nod, and she steps close behind you, her arms sliding along yours- and then she jams her knee into the back of yours.

“Oof!” You yelp in surprise, your whole body fighting to wobble and topple you over, but you’ve already adjusted and gotten yourself balanced back before she’s even stepped away.

“There we go, see how easy you can move in that stance?” She grins.

Lightness rushes through your body, every muscle ready to spring at a moment’s notice under her eyes. “Yeah! I’m not even moving but I feel, fast?”

She laughs in agreement. “Perfect. Now use that speed to dodge this!”

Imtura rushes toward you, and your muscles flex, your body reacting on instinct. You spin right under her arm into her blind spot, tightening your abdomen, and pivot behind her before she can skid to a stop. You bring a finger between her shoulder blades, and poke. “Got ya.”

Her roar of laughter might attract the most fearsome of predators in challenge, or scare it away to the other side of the world. You really don't care. “You’re a hell of a fast learner Syrum. Impress me again and I might even call you a natural.”

“You and those compliments. However will I burst my ego,” you smirk with a wavy errant hand.

“All right, next up is Boulder.” She presses on with a smirk of her own. “It’s all about using your body weight to strike quick and hard.” She raises her eyebrows at you knowingly. “We know a thing or two about quick and hard, don’t we?”

“You keep flirting with me during this lesson, and I won’t learn a thing,” you cannot say without a deep lust in your voice of whatever comes next.

She shakes her head with a sigh but moves on. You’re almost disappointed. “We Kaytar fighters get a lot of use out of the flat hand strikes, the kicks, and the shoulders. You got one you’re interested in learning more about?”

The glove she’d once given you, or really, you’d stolen from her is still safely in your pack, and you weren’t really worried about packing a punch if the need arose when you could slip that on. Having always been agile and fast though, you were intrigued on how to improve something else. “Kicking stronger? I mean, it sounds pretty self-explanatory. You just kick whatever’s in your way, right?”

“Spoken like a true landrat,” she shakes her head. “That, Syrum, is how you break your toes.”

“Okay. Let’s not do that. I am listening,” you attentivly promise.

“You gotta know where to aim, which part of your foot to use. The heel’s good for smashing things in, like if you gotta get through a door. You wanna take someone out from behind? Hook where the top of your foot meets your ankle right around their knee, and they’re down.” She turns around, grinning at you over her shoulder. “C’mon, make me weak in the knees.”

The challenge in her almost makes you think this is a double cross. “You want me to do that to you?”

“You get someone on the ground during a fight, and you’ve basically won. C’mon, knock me down. If you can.” She insists with all the pleasantness of a poisonous flower. She still might kill you, but it might still be worth it to go out like that.

You take a breath. First you position your weight like she taught you during the Zephyr, and then you strike! “RAH!” With all your weight balanced, you plant your foot, hooking into the back of her knee, and it buckles! She falls to one with an, “oof,” of surprise.

“Did, did I hurt you?” You pant in surprise, rolling quickly away. “Did, I, do it? Oh gods, it worked, just like you said. I did it!”

She’s still on her knee before you, looking up at you with great surprise, and a full smile. It is a sight you don’t think you ever could have imagined before this moment that does very strange things to you. “I didn’t actually think you’d be able to. You’re getting good at this. I’d say you’re ready for a real fight.” A wicked gleam enters her eyes.

“Wait, what are you-”

There’s not a second to process the mingled abject terror and delight that courses through you as she charges forward with a, “RRAAHH!”

She bolts, but your body finds its pose naturally, speed coursing through you. Without a second of hesitation, your confidence naturally flows through you into a spin out of her path again. She whirls around, lashing out with a fist. You naturally go on the offense at the presented opening, ducking beneath her blow, then use the flat of your foot to kick her exposed side. She trips several steps back.

“Looks like you need to keep up,” you laugh in delight, feeling weightless as you balance eagerly for more.

“Wooo boy!” She’s shaking her hair out of her eyes and can’t stop smiling, even rubbing her side for a moment. “Look at you, landrat. But you don’t stand a chance against me yet.” Fast as a whip, she slings one arm around your neck and spins you around, catching you in a stranglehold as you tumble to the ground in a controlled fall.

With a spluttering, “whoa!” you hit the ground hard, and she pounces on top of you, pinning you beneath her. Your breath floods out of you, mingling with hers.

“You’re learnin’ quick. You might even stand a chance…” she grins down at you, breathing just as hard, tendrils of hair sticking to the sweat on both of your faces mingling together in a mesmerizing pattern. “Against a lesser foe, of course.”

You can’t stop breathing her in from how close she is. The very air around her is shimmering, blasting heat against your skin, you can feel the temperature of her body bearing down on yours, her face a mere inch away from yours once more.

“Suppose I ought to get up?” She asks.

“I think you’re right where I want you to be,” you assure.

With a hearty laugh, she seizes your wrists and pins them above your head again, lowering her face somehow closer, her lips tickling, trailing, but still not quite pressing down. You long to feel her tusks again… “Seein’ how I’ve been meaning to keep you strung up like this since we met, I’d still say I won.”

“Then I’ll let you win more often,” you all but purr.

Her eyes flicker to your lips, and she grins, teasing, giving your wrists one last squeeze, before she stands back up. “I’ll have to take you up on that real soon Syrum. Unfortunately, I think we’d better get back to the others.”

You lay in the dirt, more disoriented from her weight being gone than how you’d wound up there in the first place with a great, flustering sigh… but you stand up with a groan and distantly hear your friends bickering over look-out assignments. “Right. That.” You resist the urge to take her hand at least… but you weren’t sure where to go from here either, so you instead say, “thanks for the lesson, Imtura. I’ll appreciate it even more once the bruises fade I’m sure.” As if you wouldn’t be poking them later and trying not to-

She cracks her knuckles with a chuckle. “Pleasure's all mine. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Just say the word,” you agree, walking back with her to camp, arms brushing, causing a lingering burn in your muscles, confident in every step.

You rejoin the others at your campground. Everyone is settling in for the night, with Tyril keeping watch, when-

“Everyone look out! Across the lake!” Aerin all but screams as his eyes dart around in the darkness.

You don’t have a moment to doubt him. A creature appears at the water's edge. It looks like a horse, but as it lowers its neck to lap at the shimmering water, you spot the horn jutting from its forehead!

It is a real, glorified, mythical, unicorn. Its coat is alabaster white, its mane shimmering iridescent rainbow in the moonlight every shade of white and silver with a hint of the rest of the world bouncing off each other.

Mal’s blinking painfully at the sight, even rubbing his eyes. “Are all the lake sparkles messing with my eyes, or is that a unicorn?”

“That’s, impossible!” Nia’s on her knees, though you’re not sure if she’s sunken into a bow or she’s just unable to move from crawling out of her tent. “I read that they went extinct after the Dreadlord destroyed these woods!”

The unicorn doesn’t seem particularly extinct as it continues drinking.

“It must have been protected by the same wards that protect this lake,” Tyril says, he’s actually pressing his hand to his heart. “Its presence bodes well for our quest-” he’s smiling so bright, you’ve seen him happier today than you ever could have imagined-

“Bodes well for my trophy room, you mean!” Baldur’s leapt to his feet. Before you can react, he nocks an arrow into his bow and takes aim.

White hot fury slams into you, your vision going red as you shout, “NO!” You dive towards him, trying to knock the bow out of his hands.

“How dare you peasant!” He manages to let the arrow fly as you crash into him.

“NO!” Nia’s scream echoes the cacophony of other shouts now.

You look around, cringing, waiting to hear the tell-tell scream of the unicorn, but the impact never comes.

Aerin stands before you, his eyes wide, clutching the arrow shaft in one fist.

…”Did- did you just, catch, that arrow?” You wonder if you’d crashed into a pile of rocks and slammed your head against something else… though it wouldn’t be a wild difference to the person you did-

“I, I don’t know how, I just, reacted,” Aerin said, just as stunned blank as you as he stares down at the shaft.

“NNrnngh!” Across the lake, the unicorn stares at your party, nostril’s flaring, then canters off into the woods.

“That was my kill you little bastard!” Bladur tries to kick you away, though you roll aside before his boot can impact, and watch with utter contempt as he gets up to shove his brother and snatch his arrow out of his hand.

“How, on earth, did you do that Aerin?” you ask, panting slightly as you get slowly to your feet, eyes flickering between the two brothers and honestly not sure what you want to do more, skin Baldur alive, or somehow study Aerin’s mind. At least the latter is easier to focus on than causing a regicide and war with the elves and humans.

“Is it really so hard to believe?” He asks, angry for the first time, utterly wounded as he stares at you. “My reflexes are well-honed after a life with him as my brother.” The implication there makes your stomach clench with stress as Aerin glares at Baldur. “I’ve learned how to defend myself, I just wish that I’d started defending others sooner.”

“Oh, how noble of you little brother,” Baldur says with a disgusting twisted thing of a smile.

“Back off!” You rush to jump in front of Aerin. “You have no right to treat your own brother that way! Just like you had no right to try to kill that unicorn!”

“I can do whatever I want!” Baldur steps towards you, hand trembling with rage. You watch carefully without batting an eye for where that hand will go. “I’m your prince!”

“You’re a monster,” you spit back.

“Hah! And I should listen to some cut-rate, lowlife, dalloping whore of a mercenary?!” He laughs derisively, tense, ready to spring.

“I-” something in you freezes in shock… you’d never been called that, but you knew that word, shouted after men and women heading into, and out of brothels, or so you heard whispered… did you know what that word meant? It was the image you’d presented yourself as, in theory, but something of his sickening tone slams into you as you realize he very well could be referring to the open display you’d just had with Imtura-

“Syrum’s right Baldur!” Aerin stumbles, but he’s beside you. “The way you act is an embarrassment to the Valleros name. It’s despicable-”

He finally lunged, but not where you’d expected. Baldur strikes his little brother across the jaw with the back of his hand, one of the many rings on his hand gouging a deep cut in place.

Aerin reals back with an, “argh!”

“Ka-?!” You see Aerin press his hand to his face, but there’s not a flicker of surprise there really as whatever horrors your mind is trying to wrap you up in settle back quickly to reality. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Tyril has a hand on Mal’s shoulder, whispering, “relax, he’s got this-” as well as Imtura with both hand’s on Nia’s shoulders, but it’s all background noise as you crouch in place.

In a blind whirl, you snatch for the little whelps wrist, but he moves back with a blood red face, sure footed. At minimum, he has had training. More than you. “You don’t deserve to be king!”

“Yes, well, I’m going to be,” he sneers. “And unless you want to spend the rest of your life staring at a dungeon wall, you’d better learn to show some respect!” He stalks off into a tent. Aerin glowers after him, still rubbing his jaw, a little rivulet of red between his fingers.

You’re shaking with rage, every instinct in you screaming to run after and tear the head off of that guy, shove that crown up his- but something else wins out as you turn in concern back to the lost little brother.

“Want me to go rearrange your brother’s face?” Imtura asks not unkindly as you step towards Aerin gently. “I’ll do it, and gladly.” She’s released Nia, and you realize belatedly she’d been holding the priestess back. From doing what exactly, your imagination is really running to wild to cobble together.

“He’s, he’s not worth the effort,” Aerin chokes out. He’s trying desperately not to look at any of you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m sorry that your brother treats you that way,” Nia says in the same choked voice, she looks moments away from flinging her arms around Aerin to hug him close. “I didn’t know family could be so, so cruel to each other.”

“Not even a 100 gold would make it worth putting up with his arrogant ass,” Mal agrees in pure contempt. “Can we just feed him to the drakna?”

Tyril regards Aerin with crossed arms, his expression unreadable. “You humans would be foolish putting your brother on the throne. You strike me as a much better prince.”

Aerin looks like Tyril had taken a turn smacking him next. “But, I’m not-”

“Tyril’s right,” you gently put your hand on his arm, honestly hoping he’d hear you as more than a joke. “You haven’t turned your nose up to us, you saved that unicorn. You’re a lot nobler than Baldur could ever be.”

For a second you think he’ll smile, but then bitterness flashes across his face. He jerks his arm away and glares into the darkness. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve already accepted my place. And it’s in my brother's shadow.”

Your throat swells shut in pain for him. There’s a heavy sense of unease in the air as your friends wander off, resuming setting up the night for camp. Aerin settles on a log, rubbing his jaw.

“Let me at least make you a compress,” you offer bleakly.

“You don’t have to-”

“I know, but I want to.” You assure. “Besides, it’s the least I can do.”

He blinks up at you, doe eyed, and you take that as a yes as you gather up several herbs out of your bag and put them in a small compress, which you hand to him. Aerin presses it to his jaw.

“Ah, that does help.” He grins, but it looks a bit of a mess. His jaw is already starting to shade in a bruising color.

“I knew it would,” you say, crouching in front of him with a sad smile. “For the record, I’m on board with Mal’s feed Baldur to the darkna plan. You know. If you’re interested.”

You’re not sure if he takes it as a joke, a part of you really does mean it as angry as you still are to your core seeing him in this state, but Aerin just shakes his head with a lingering smile. “I’ll admit that sounds tempting, but, all the questions I’d have to answer back at court don’t. More than that, I just wish he would change. Open his eyes to the world. Set aside some of his pride.” He lets out a deep, blustering sigh he’d probably been holding in all his life. “Be a good brother,” he finishes on a small whisper nearly caught in the wind.

He stands up before you can do more than let your heart ache and wrap him in a hug as you desperately want to.

“I’m going to take a walk around the lake, clear my head.” His eyes meet yours, and for a second you see something in them, a hint of connection. Of hidden depths. “Would you care to join me?”

“You wouldn’t mind company?” You confirm, not really following. “Mine?”

“Not at all,” he agrees earnestly. “You seem like a wise soul, not to mention kind. Your company would be welcome.”

OR BOLAS OR

You can’t help but say yes without further question. Anything he needs from you right now, even if it was just to walk in silence. “I’d be happy to accompany you,” you readily agree.

Aerin smiles at you, genuine but with a hint of sadness. “Thank you, Syrum.” He takes off, strolling along the shore of the dazzling lake as it reflects the night stars side by side with you. “I didn’t expect to find something so beautiful at the heart of the Deadwood. It makes me think of what other wonders are out there, just waiting to be found in the shadow!”

You laugh in agreement, resisting the urge to throw your arm over him still and hold him close at the raw excitement in his voice you could still hear in your own, though it grew rarer by the day. “Or waiting to be restored,” you grandly agree, looking all around.

He looks at you thoughtfully. “The scholars at Whitetower say that what is lost cannot be restored. Once something's corrupted, it’s impossible to bring it back to the Light.”

You clench your hand around your satchel uncomfortably. You can hear the force behind your own words. “I don’t think that’s true. It’s possible to purify things, even after they've been corrupted by shadow… at least, I have to believe that’s true…”

“You seem quite invested in learning about purification,” Aerin says, obviously noting the sudden seriousness, and darkness in your own voice.

You waver on the spot whether to tell him about Kade or not… but can’t imagine the harm really. Not from him. “Well, the truth is, I fear my brother might be lost to the shadows.”

“Really? How did that come to be?” He’s startled, he’s looking at you in a brand new light.

You hesitate, biting your lip. Gods, you were so tired of telling this story with no end in sight…

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful,” Aerin says gently, putting his hand on your shoulder.

You manage a robust sigh and shake yourself off. “I’m going to do everything I can to save him. And I believe he can be saved. I know he can.”

He drops his hand, and gives you a friendly nudge with a reassuring smile. “In the brief time I’ve known you, I can see how capable you are. I know you’ll accomplish anything you set out to do.”

You’re smiling back at him when his eyes suddenly widen. “Look! An indigo moonbloom! I thought these were extinct!”

Aerin rushes toward the lakeside, where a rocky outcropping shelters a viny bush of deep purple flowers. As he bends down to study them up close, the petals start to stretch open, turning their faces toward the full moon.

“This is amazing,” you gasp. “They’re just like that unicorn, preserved by whatever makes this place so special.”

He reaches out and taps his fingertip to one of the velvety petals. The flower shudders and turns toward him before facing the moon again. “Their petals can be ground up and brewed into an elixir said to heal the deepest corruption,” you can hear the smile in his voice, and the way it trickles off as he continues hovering his fingers in place. “But these may be the last moonblooms left in all the realms. It’d be a shame to destroy them.”

Aerin contemplates for a moment, then suddenly pulls off his boots. “I shall sit here and admire them as long as I can then!” He slips his feet into the shimmering water at the lakeside. “You only get to dip your feet in one magically preserved lake in your life, right? Join me!”

You laugh in delight and quickly follow. “If you insist.” You take off your own shoes and sit in the grass. The cool water is refreshing as you slip your feet in.

He begins gently kicking his feet, sending splashes over the water as he smiles down at the moonblooms.

A mischievous little feeling clouds your mind you hadn’t acted on in so long… but there’s no harm in it… it’s not as if you can’t play with anyone in the water other than Kade your whole life… and you vividly remember doing the same to Mal. You hadn’t forgotten Kade, the world hadn’t ended.

Seizing the thought and refusing to keep dwelling, drowning, you give Aerin an innocent smile. “Hey, check this out.”

“Hm? What-” he turns around just as you perfectly flick the water off your fingers right into his face. “Hey!” He sputters. Then, before you can even finish your first breath of laugh, you hear, “take this!”

With an invigorated grin, he flicks water right back at you. You throw your hands up to defend yourself breathlessly. “Ah! I wasn’t expecting such a quick comeback!”

“That’s where you went wrong! We princes are trained for any kind of combat!” Aerin says with a pleased smile and a royal shake of his head. His crown wriggles in place upon his ears.

The two of you flick water at each other with a fervor, your laughter spiraling up into the night. “Okay, truce! My fingers are cramping!” You plead between giggles.

Aerin shakes droplets of water out of his hair, making the air shimmer around him. “You know, this isn’t extremely princely of me,” he says, sounding quite bemused with himself as he rubs his hand on his still glistening robes threaded in red and gold as bright as the stars. Like Nia’s attire, you can’t even imagine what it’s made of to be so sturdy, clean, bright, after what must have been weeks of travel.

“I’m so curious,” you admit. “What’s the first thing you're going to do when you get back?”

He shrugs, casting his gaze up at the stars. “Same as I always do, I suppose. Try my best to smooth over my brother’s brash decisions as he prepares to rule.”

It’s like he sucked all the joy back out of the world, as the darkness seeps back in around you both. “You said you hoped to be one of his advisers on his council,” you sigh in agreement. “Does it do any good?”

“Yes, I’d be able to prevent him from making a lot of mistakes.” Aerin said adamantly. “But, that implies that he’ll actually listen to me…” he trails off with a clearly miserable idea of how that would work out, his face morphing into his own anger. His face colored red just like Baldur’s. “I’ll just have to try to do everything I can until then, and for that, I need knowledge.”

An impish grin alights his face suddenly. “What about you Syrum?” It’s a clear change of subject, and you can't really blame him. “What will you do after collecting your reward from Lord Gillbottle? Will you be staying in Whitetower?”

“I,” the weight of that answer feels far to heavy for the light, lie of a question it really is. You hitch a smile back into place, giving an answer you assume is expected… because the true knot of it is one you’re to scared to deal with otherwise. “I’ll seek out more adventure of course! I think there’s plenty more to do once my party’s finished with Lord-”

Aerin cuts you off with a snort.

“What’s so funny?” You ask in surprise, your mind scrabbling madly for what you did wrong, Kade always saw right through your little jokes-

“Syrum, I know you know there’s no Lord Gillbottle.” Aerin gives you a leveled look.

“You- you know that huh?” You ask sheepishly, really not that surprised now that you think about it. Aerin, unlike his brother, would be the kind to know all the lordlings that came and went.

“Knew from the second I heard it,” he agrees with a chuckle. “But don’t worry, Baldur hasn’t a clue. In case you haven't noticed, he isn’t all that bright.”

“Believe me, it shows,” you snort with derision. “But, why are you keeping our secret?”

“I figure what you do is none of my business,” he shrugs. “I’m just happy we found you in these woods, so we didn’t have to keep traveling alone.”

Yeah, that was a fair trade. You struggle to swallow a moment as you look out at the rest of the woods, the ways you still had to go. “I hope we make it to Undermount soon. My brother’s life is on the line.”

Aerin takes your hands in his as he gazes into your eyes. You’re so startled, you squeeze back automatically. “I fear there are more trials to come, for all of us.” - you want to pull back- “but you’re strong Syrum. Don’t lose hope.”

His kindness is a welcoming balm to your ravaged mental state after the day you’ve had to spend around him. It does you no good to strain yourself, constantly wishing to see Kade out of the corner of your eye, wondering what he’d say… and the ever growing feeling of getting used to the silence. You find yourself nearly blinking away tears as you look at Aerin. “I’ll try not to, thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says seriously, still holding onto your hand. “For taking the time to speak with me. I’d forgotten how nice it is to be able to open up to someone. To lower my guard, and simply be myself.”

Gods, he really was hitting you right where it hurt. “You must constantly be on the defense at the palace, alone.” The bruise his own brother had given him was forming nicely upon his jaw, mottling it, swelling. The only thing stopping it from being gruesome was the herbs you’d given him.

“It can be exhausting,” he agrees cheerfully. “But I’m glad to know you understand me Syrum.” He tilts his soft gaze up toward yours. His expression is full of lingering sorrow, but also full of compassion. You can’t help but let go of his hand, and pull him into a hug.

“Oh,” he manages a startled little yelp, but wraps his arms kindly around you back.

“I’m glad we understand each other Aerin,” you murmur.

He smiles shyly as you release him and wraps his arms around himself. “Unfortunately, we should probably return. But, thank you for sharing this time with me.” He pauses for a moment, then fiddles with his hand, before handing you something sparkling and gold. “I want you to have this.”

It was a beautiful golden ring, with the royal seal pressed in. Like a bizarre pumpkin-strawberry hybrid, vines and leaves all around its middle where the seeds showed.

“It bears the sigil of my royal line. If you ever are in trouble, show it to whoever’s in charge. They’ll know you’re protected.” He says with faint, actual pride for his blood for once.

“Thank you,” you murmur, clutching your hand tight around it. “I’ll treasure it.” You tuck the ring into your bag and make your way back to the camp where most of your companions are already asleep.

“Sleep well, Syrum,” Aerin murmurs, before bravely going off to bed down in his brother's tent. The inevitability of watching that makes you feel powerless as you clutch your satchel and bite back a sob.

You watch him go with a painful feeling of regret, for yourself, for him. You cannot stand to be alone right now, so you tentatively go towards the one tent you long to be in, and screw anyone else who had something to say about it. You give the flap a gentle push, whispering, “it’s me, can I come in?”

There’s a rough snort you imagine for a moment is her snoring, startling awake, and you cringe back, but then her voice murmurs back without a trace of surprise, “of course.”

You duck inside without further hesitation, but make your way hesitantly to her side. She’s as dressed down as she usually is when she beds for the night. That is to say, still in full kilt leather and furs. Her skin must be amazingly thick, even more than you’d originally assumed. You usually have to at least take off the leather vest to get comfortable, depending on your exhaustion level.

“How’d the walk with the princling go?” She asks, nothing but kindness, and a hint of worry in her voice in the dark, one arm casually behind her head as she watches you.

“About as well as could be expected,” you grumble, your tone full of bitterness for the world. “Did Mal smother Baldur in his sleep yet?”

Her laugh brings a welcoming smile out of you you’d sorely needed. “Haven’t heard anything yet, but I won’t be surprised.” She raises her other arm invitingly, and your smile widens, going forward and pressing into her side. She sighs, a sound of relief as her arm drops back around your waist, holding you close.

There’s silence for a moment, but it’s not awkward, not the least bit presumptuous. She’s just waiting as your fingers alternatively tangle and pet her furs and her hair, and the painful words finally bubble out in the safety of her embrace. “I don’t know how to live without him. I hate that I’m getting used to it, or worse, that I’m not. I don’t know, I-” Imtura gently squeezes your hip, pressing you closer. You bury your face in the crook of her neck. “I feel like such an idiot, I know I’m, that I-”

“Shh,” she murmurs gently, giving you a little jostle. “Not your fault, it’s normal for family to hurt a new way every day. I know what it’s like to love someone that makes it as hard as possible to do so from afar.”

You’re shaking just a bit, but your breathing evens out quickly under her as your breaths slowly match hers. She stills smells of the salty sea, and something richer, deeper, all her own. You wonder if she can even feel you practically lying on top of her, your hands clutching the soft velvet of her furs like a lifeline, but the way her body shifts gently every time yours does to keep you close sort of answers that as you close your eyes and drift off to a gentle sleep.

OR BOLAS OR

… but honestly, you need a moment to clear your own head after all that too. “Sorry, but, I need a moment too. Be careful out there though. We don’t know what’s on the other side of that lake.” You tell Aerin.

He nods, looking a tad dejected, but heads off.

You settle in for the night, sharing a tent with Nia, listening to the spooky sounds of the Deadwood far in the distance as the serene lake laps at the shore nearby.

When you wake up, you find yourself wedged in tight under Imtura’s arm still, and you have to once again wriggle free of her good grip with a mild laugh of delight you’re trying to keep muffled- but something’s wrong.

Something’s, sticky- too tight- cold- wet- all around you-

You realize you aren’t pinned in by her at all… but by a tightly wrapped cocoon, clinging to your skin as you begin wrestling in place.

“Imtura? Nia! Mal? Tyril! Aerin-” Just barely through the thick material obscuring your eyes, you swear you can see lumpy cocoons dotting the sprawling drakna web where you’ve been trapped.

And in the distance, you hear the buzzing of angry wings.

“HELP!” The raw scream of shock and horror wrenches out of you.

It is met with silence.

#blades of light and shadow #bolas #mal volari #nia ellarious #imtura tal kaelen #tyril starfury #bolas 1 #mc is an elf #mc x imtura #choices bolas #tyrilxmal

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