The dark elf's laughter—a rasping, chilling sound that scraped against the silence of the empty tavern—seemed to coalesce in the shadows, a tangible presence. His tall, lanky frame cast a long shadow in the dim lamplight; his outfit's black Holy Order insignia seemed to absorb the little light, a stark void against the dark fabric.
"My, my," he purred, his voice smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade. "Such hostility for a simple traveler. And here I thought the Broken Barrel prided itself on hospitality."
Mira's hands never falter as she continued wiping the glass, her weathered face betraying no emotion. Only the slight tightening of her grip reveals her tension.
"We're closed," she repeats firmly. "And I don't serve Order dogs, especially not those who've betrayed their kind."
The dark elf clicked his tongue, the sharp sound echoing in the tavern as he took another step forward. His crimson eyes, burning with a cruel light, gleamed with malicious amusement as they slowly, methodically, scanned the room, taking in every detail.
"Betrayed my kind? Such harsh accusations." He places a hand over his heart in mock offense. "My kind are those who survive, Mira. And survival sometimes means... adaptation." His smile reveals teeth too sharp even for an elf. "The Order has use for talents like mine. They call us Shadow hounds now. Poetic, isn't it?"
Mira sets down the glass deliberately, her eyes never leaving the intruder. The tavern's silence feels heavy, broken only by the occasional creak of the old building settling for the night.
"So, you bend the knee when they call you hounds?" Mira insulted as she closed her eyes and sighed. "State your business and leave, Vexes," she replied coldly. "I've paid my tithes. The Order has no quarrel with me."
The dark elf, Vexes, steps forward, his lithe body moving with the silent grace of a predator, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. The silver moonlight streaming through the windows catches on something metallic at his hip—a curved sword with runes etched into its blade.
"No quarrel? Perhaps," he concedes with a theatrical bow. "But I'm not here on Order business... officially."
He begins to circle the room, trailing long fingers across tabletops as he moves.
"You see, we've been tracking some very important fugitives. Royal blood. The last of the Velyrian line." He pauses, watching for any reaction. "Accompanied by a human traitor—a young man with quite the interesting lineage himself."
"I have no guests," she states flatly. "Just an empty inn and a tired old woman who wants to close up shop."
The dark elf's smile widened, revealing unnervingly sharp teeth that glinted faintly in the dim, shadowy light.
"Lies don't become you, Mira, human from the northern regions," he said softly. "The Order knows of your... sympathies. Your little establishment has become quite the waypoint for those fleeing justice."
Mira's expression remains impassive, but her hand slowly moves beneath the counter.
"I told you, dark elf. I have no guests."
Vexes sighs dramatically, shaking his head as if disappointed in a child.
"Let's not play games, Mira. I can smell them." He taps his nose with one long finger. "A gift from my... enhancements. The Holy Order is quite innovative with their rituals."
He moves closer to the staircase, his gaze drifting upward. Mira shifts her position, subtly placing herself between him and the stairs.
"Even if what you say is true," she said carefully, "this is still my establishment. And I've paid good coin to the right people to ensure my privacy."
"Ah, yes, your tithes and offerings. A good way to keep your 'establishment' clean in the eyes of the Order." The dark elf's smile turns cruel. "However, the Order is no longer accepting your 'tithes' at the moment, and so your request for privacy has been... Denied,"
A flicker of genuine fear crosses Mira's face for the first time. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Vexes asked, his voice a low rasp. He withdrew a handful of rings from his pocket; the cold, slick metal sent a shiver down her spine as she saw the dark, sticky residue clinging to them. "The Order has been doing some restructuring and has removed those who handle your tithes." A sinister chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sly grin spreading across his lips as his eyes gleamed with mischief.
Mira's face pales at the sight of the bloodstained rings, her composure cracking for the first time. Her hand beneath the counter tightens around something unseen. "You've made your point," she says, voice steady despite her clear distress. "What do you want?"
With a flick of the wrist, Vexes tossed the rings onto the counter; they spun, a blur of gold, before coming to rest with a metallic clang. His crimson eyes gleam with satisfaction.
"Smart woman. I'm not here to create a scene—yet." He gestures upstairs with another lazy flick of his wrist. "I merely wish to confirm my quarry before reporting back. The Order will send a proper contingent by morning."
He takes another step toward the stairs, but Mira doesn't budge. "They're just children," she said quietly. "Exhausted, frightened children."
Vexes laughs, the sound devoid of humor.
"Children? The Velyrian sisters are centuries old, by human reckoning. And their companion—" his expression darkens, "—has crimes that the purifier demands he answer for." He breathed coldly. "Give them to me now, and I'll ensure your establishment remains standing. The Order can be quite generous to those who cooperate."
Mira's face betrays nothing as she slowly brings her hand up from beneath the counter, revealing not a weapon, but a small wooden token carved with ancient Elven symbols.
"You know what this is," she said quietly.
Vexes's eyes widen slightly, his confident demeanor faltering for just a moment as he recognizes the wooden token in Mira's hand. The ancient Elven symbols carved into its surface seem to pulse with a faint, ethereal glow in the dim tavern light.
"The Mark of Sylvanath," he hissed, taking an involuntary step back. "You're one of the Keepers?!"
Mira's stance shifts subtly, a new strength clear in her bearing as she holds the token aloft. The weathered innkeeper suddenly seems taller, more formidable—a glimpse of who she might have been before her days serving ale.
"I was sworn to the Grove long before you sold your soul to the Order, Vexes," she said, her voice carrying a power that wasn't there before. "This establishment stands on protected ground. You have no authority here."
The dark elf's face contorts with rage and something else—fear, perhaps. His hand moves to the curved sword at his hip.
"The old ways are dying," he snarled. "Your precious Grove is burning as we speak. The Order marches on the last sacred sites even now!"
The soft, ethereal light pulsed from the wooden token, its glow intensified with each grunt of pain from Vexes as he glared at her and the ancient artifact; the air crackled with barely contained power. "The light of the grove... Keeper... It burns..." His tongue, like a pink serpent, slid from his mouth, his gaze hardening into an icy stare.
Mira's expression remains resolute, though a flicker of pain crosses her features at his words.
"Then I suggest you leave while you still can," she replied, her voice steady. "The token may be the last of its kind, but its power remains undiminished. Cross my threshold with ill intent, and even your Order masters won't recognize what's left."
Vexes hesitates, his crimson eyes darting between Mira and the token in her hand. The ancient wood seems to pulse with an inner light now, responding to the tension in the room. After a long moment, he steps back, his face twisting into a mask of contempt.
"This changes nothing," He hissed. "They cannot hide forever. The shadow hounds will find them, with or without your cooperation."
His movements were fluid but strained, like a predator giving up its quarry, as he approached the door.
"And when the Order finally breaks the last of the old magic," He added, pausing at the threshold, "I will return for you personally, Keeper."
Mira stands unwavering, the token held high. "Until then, begone from my sight, demon."
With a final snarl, Vexes slips through the doorway, his dark form seeming to melt into the shadows of the night. The tavern door swings shut behind him with an ominous creak, leaving Mira alone in the suddenly too-quiet room.
Only when she's certain he's truly gone does she allow her shoulders to slump, the wooden token lowering slowly to rest against her heart. The faint glow subsides, leaving just an ordinary-looking carved piece of wood in her wrinkled hands.
"By the Grove," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "It's worse than I feared."
She moves quickly now, locking the door and drawing the heavy shutters closed over each window. Her practiced movements speak of someone who has prepared for this moment, perhaps dreaded it for years. From beneath the floorboards behind the bar, she retrieves a small pouch of herbs and begins to sprinkle them in a careful pattern around the perimeter of the room.
"Protection of the ancients, shield this dwelling," she murmured in the old Elven tongue, words not spoken aloud in this region for decades. "By root and branch, by leaf and star, guard those who shelter beneath
As Mira completes the protective ritual, the scattered herbs briefly shimmer with a soft green light before fading into the floorboards. The air in the tavern feels different now—cleaner, safer, as if the building itself has drawn a deep breath and set its shoulders.
Moving with purpose now, she extinguishes the remaining lamps in the common room, plunging the tavern into darkness save for the silver moonlight filtering through the small cracks of the windows. She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, conflict evident on her face as she weighs the danger of waking her guests against the risk of leaving them unprepared.
"No," she whispered to herself. "Let them have this night of peace."
Mira ascends the stairs quietly; her footsteps are barely audible on the worn wooden steps. At the top landing, she pauses, listening to the deep, even breathing coming from behind the closed door of the room where the royal sisters and their human protector rest.
She places her palm flat against the door, whispering words in ancient Elvish—a minor enchantment of protection, one that would alert her should anyone attempt to breach the room. The wood warms briefly beneath her touch, accepting her magic.
"Sleep well," she murmured. "Tomorrow brings harder roads."
Retreating to her quarters at the end of the hallway, Mira sits heavily on her simple bed. The wooden token still clutched in her hand seems heavier now, a burden of responsibility rather than just an object. She opens a small, hidden compartment in the wall beside her bed and withdraws a tattered map, spreading it across her lap.
"The western passage," she whispered, tracing a route with her finger. "It's their only chance."
Outside, a shadow detaches itself from the darkness beside the tavern. Vexes stands motionless, his crimson eyes fixed on the upper windows. Despite his retreat, Vexes has not truly left. He stands motionless in the shadows, his crimson eyes fixed on the upper windows of the tavern. A cruel smile plays across his thin lips as he raises a hand, revealing a small crystal orb that pulses with sickly purple light.
"The old fool thinks her ancient magics can keep me at bay," he whispered to the orb. "She doesn't understand what the Order has become."
The orb flickers in response, and a voice emerges from within—cold, authoritative, and distinctly inhuman.
"Report, Shadow hound," the voice commands.
"The targets are confirmed, Commander," Vexes replies, his voice low. "Two Elven females matching the descriptions of the Velyrian princesses, accompanied by a human male. They've taken refuge with a Keeper—one of the old guard."
The orb pulses angrily.
"A Keeper? Here? The purge was supposed to be complete."
"This one has hidden her nature well," Vexes explained. "She runs a tavern—the Broken Barrel. Her protection magic is... stronger than anticipated."
A moment of silence follows before the orb pulses again, the purple light casting eerie shadows across Vexes' sharp features.
"Interesting," the voice finally responds, a note of cold calculation evident in its tone. "The Order's archives suggested the Keepers were extinct. This... complicates matters."
"Shall I call for reinforcements?" Vexes asks, his fingers tightening around the orb. "With enough Shadow hounds, we could overwhelm even old magic."
"No," the voice commands sharply. "We cannot risk drawing attention. The Velyrian princesses are too valuable to lose in a chaotic assault. And if word spreads that a Keeper still lives..."
Vexes nods, understanding the unspoken concern. The resistance would rally if they knew the ancient protectors still walked among them.
"What would you have me do, Commander?"
"Watch. Wait. The protection extends only to the building itself. They must emerge eventually."
The dark elf smiles, a predatory gleam in his crimson eyes.
"And when they do?"
"Follow, but do not engage alone—the human interests us particularly. There are... questions about his bloodline that require answers. The Augurs have seen something in him—a potential that could either serve our cause or destroy it."
Vexes raises an eyebrow, genuine curiosity crossing his features.
"The human? He seems unremarkable to me. Just another sympathizer."
"Appearances deceive Shadowhound. Our seers detected traces of ancient power when he breached the holding cells. Power that should not exist in human veins."
The dark elf's expression shifts to one of understanding and renewed interest.
"The Dragon Shard," he murmured. "He carries it. I sensed it."
"Yes. However, he may not fully comprehend what he possesses. The Order requires both the shard and the thief—intact, do not kill the human boy Vexes."
Vexes bows his head in acknowledgment. "By Blood and Shadow, it shall be done. I will not disappoint you, Commander."
"See that you don't. The Purifier does not tolerate disappointment."
The orb's light dims and then extinguishes completely, leaving Vexes alone in the darkness.
Dawn breaks with hesitant fingers of light creeping through the shuttered windows of the Broken Barrel Inn. Upstairs, in the room shared by unlikely companions, Celestia stirs first. Her sapphire eyes open slowly, adjusting to the gentle morning light as memories of safety, a rare luxury, flood back.
She finds herself hugging the pillow she rested her head on, and seeing Oreon between her sister and her. A position that would have been unthinkable in the royal courts of Vel'Andria. While she maintained her elegance, even in Sleep. The same could not have been said about Oreon and Sylvanie. Sylvaine's leg is draped across Oreon, completely relaxed despite her guarded nature. Oreon lay with his hand over his head and his other arm draped across Sylvanie's face. A small smile appeared on her face as she watched the peaceful scene beside her.
Downstairs, Mira moves with quiet efficiency, her movements betraying none of the night's confrontation. She prepares a simple breakfast, the scent of fresh bread and herbs wafting up the stairs. Her eyes occasionally drift to the wooden token now hanging from a cord around her neck, hidden beneath her clothing but a constant presence against her skin.
As she works, Mira's mind races through contingency plans. The western passage would be their best hope—an ancient route through the mountains that few remembered existed. But they would need supplies, guidance... and time that she fears they may not have.
The sound of movement upstairs attracts her attention. She takes a deep breath, composing herself. They deserve one more moment of peace before she must shatter it with warnings of what hunts them.
Upstairs, Celestia gently extricates herself from the bed, careful not to disturb the others. She moves to the window, parting the curtain just enough to peer outside. The small village looks peaceful in the morning light—The people of the town made their way out in the morning sun, starting their daily routines.
Behind her, both Sylvanie and Oreon stir, their eyelids slowly opening as they both look at each other, blinking for a few seconds, before their eyes drift down to their awkward sleeping position. Sylvanie's leg draped across his stomach, and Oreon's arm gently resting on Sylvanie's neck. The awkward pause lasted for a few seconds before....
"HOW DARE YOU MAKE INDECENT MOVES ON ME IN MY SLEEP, HUMAN!" Sylvanie comically shouted as she quickly rolled over on top of Oreon and began choking the life out of him.
"It wasn't my fault! Your leg was on me, you crazy elf!" Oreon shouted back comically as Sylvanie continued trying to choke him as Celestia just stood back at the window, a slight giggle escaping her lips.
Celestia's gentle laughter fills the small room as she watches the comical scene unfold before her. The morning light streaming through the window catches in her pale blonde hair, creating a halo-like effect around her elegant features. Despite everything they've lost, despite the danger that hunts them, there's something heartwarming about this moment of normalcy. "Perhaps we should consider separate sleeping arrangements in the future," she suggests, with a hint of amusement dancing in her sapphire eyes. "Though I must say, you both looked rather peaceful until just moments ago."
Sylvaine's hands remain firmly around Oreon's neck, though her grip has loosened enough to allow him to breathe. Her violet hair cascades wildly around her face as she glares down at him, crimson eyes narrowed dangerously despite the faint blush coloring her tan cheeks.
"Peaceful?" she scoffed at her sister's comment, having yet to release her hold. "I was merely conserving energy. Don't mistake necessity for comfort, human." She directed her words towards Oreon.
Oreon fights against her grasp dramatically, shooting Sylvaine a look that's equal parts exasperation and amusement. "Your 'conservation of energy' nearly crushed my internal organs," he retorted, "And I'm fairly certain princesses aren't supposed to snore like dwarven miners after a night of heavy drinking."
Sylvaine's eyes widen in outrage as she chokes Oreon more..
"I do NOT snore!" she hissed, her dignity wounded. "Tell him, Celestia! Tell this insufferable human that I sleep with the grace of a summer breeze!"
Celestia turns fully from the window now, her diplomatic skills immediately called into action as she attempts to mediate this most serious of morning disputes. A gentle smile plays across her lips as she chooses her words carefully.
"My dear sister, while your many talents are beyond question..." she begins diplomatically, "...perhaps we might focus on more pressing matters than your sleeping habits?"
"Yeah, like why your leg was draped across my stomach like you were claiming territory?" He rasped, still getting in a bit of air before Sylvanie goes back to playfully choking him to death.
"Silence, Human." Sylvaine slightly glanced back at him. "You probably put it there while I was defenseless in my sleep. Who knows what kind of impure thoughts run through that human mind of yours?" She retorted.
"Yes, clearly I was the aggressor here," he mutters sarcastically. "Apparently, I orchestrated this whole situation while completely unconscious." He retorts, his voice raspy from the choking. "My sincerest apologies, Your Royal Highness, for my unconscious limbs having the audacity to exist in your vicinity," he continued with mock formality. "Next time, I will tie myself to the bedpost to prevent such grievous offenses."
Sylvaine narrows her eyes at him, finally releasing his neck completely, but remaining perched atop him in a position that would scandalize any royal court attendant. Her violet hair cascades around them like a curtain, creating a momentary private world between them.
"You'd enjoy that far too much, human," she whispers with a dangerous smirk before abruptly rolling off him and stretching like a satisfied cat.
"You should be grateful I don't turn you into a toad," she hissed, though there's a hint of playfulness beneath her feigned outrage. "Humans have no sense of personal space."
"First of all, you're an elf, not a witch," Oreon responded. "Second, if I'd known Elven royalty was so clingy in their sleep, I would have slept on the floor."
Sylvaine's eyes widen at his audacity, a dangerous spark igniting in their crimson depths. For a moment, it seems she might follow through on her threat of violence—but then her lips twitch, fighting against a reluctant smile. "You should watch your tongue, human," she warns, as her eyes narrowed at him. "Best be warned, I've turned men into ash for lesser insults." She breathed.
Celestia moves gracefully from the window. Her presence somehow brings a sense of calm to the chaotic energy between the other two. She sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing her simple dress—a far cry from the elaborate gowns she once wore in the palace.
"I believe I smell breakfast," she said diplomatically, changing the subject. "And after yesterday's journey, I suspect we could all use the nourishment."
Sylvaine rolls her eyes, running fingers through her tangled violet hair. Despite her irritation, there's a vulnerability to her in these early morning moments—before she fully armors herself with her usual sharp demeanor.
"Fine," she concedes, shooting one last warning glance at Oreon. "But he walks in front of me from now on."
Oreon throws his hands up in exasperation as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
"As if I'd want to be anywhere else," he muttered, reaching for his boots. "At least that way I can see the danger coming."
Celestia rises with fluid grace, moving to the small basin of water in the corner to freshen up. As she splashes cool water on her face, she catches her reflection in the small, cracked mirror hanging above it. For a moment, she barely recognizes herself—the regal High Elf princess now dressed in simple traveling clothes, her once-elaborate hairstyle now a practical braid. So much has changed in so little time.
It didn't take long before the other two followed suit, washing their faces at the basin as they put on a clean set of travel attire that Mira left out for them the night before.
They made their way downstairs, sitting in a tavern before it opened. The fresh smell of breakfast covered the room as Mira, who didn't look like she had had an ordeal the night prior, stood in the kitchen preparing a full-course meal for the trio. Lena, the younger girl who appeared to be helping at the Tavern, none the wiser to what is going on in the shadow of things, saw Oreon and the two elves come downstairs and take a table as she set the food down for them.
The tavern's main room looks different in the morning light—warmer, more welcoming than it had appeared in the dim evening hours. Sunlight streams through the windows, catching dust motes that dance in golden beams across the wooden floor. The space is clean but lived-in, with tables scrubbed but bearing the marks and nicks of countless patrons over the years.
Lena approaches with a bright smile that seems to light up her youthful face, carrying a large tray laden with steaming plates. Her simple dress and apron are spotlessly clean, her brown hair tied back in two ponytails. There's an innocence about her that feels increasingly rare in these troubled times.
"Good morning!" she chirps cheerfully, unaware of the tension that hangs in the air like an invisible fog. "Mom made her special breakfast for you. Says travelers need proper food before setting out."
She sets down plates piled high with fresh bread, eggs, smoked meats, and roasted potatoes seasoned with herbs from Mira's garden. The aroma is mouthwatering, a reminder of simpler pleasures that still exist even in a world gone mad. "There's honey for the bread too," she adds, placing a small ceramic pot on the table. "Fresh from our hives out back. And I've brought apple cider—Mom says it's better than water for strength on the road."
Celestia offers the girl a warm smile, her natural grace making even this simple interaction feel momentous. "Thank you, Lena. Your kindness is most appreciated."
Lena blushes slightly at the formal thanks, clearly sensing something regal about Celestia despite her simple attire. "It's no trouble at all, miss. Mom rarely has guests stay the night." She smiled. "A lot of times it's just old drunken men that enter the tavern, harping on about the days the Order wasn't in power. So, it's nice having fresh faces around here."
Sylvaine, less inclined toward pleasantries, has already begun attacking her food with surprising enthusiasm. Between bites, she glances up at the girl with narrowed eyes, as if assessing whether her cheerfulness is genuine or a threat.
"The food is... acceptable," she finally offers, which from Sylvaine might as well be effusive praise.
Oreon rolls his eyes at Sylvaine's grudging compliment before turning to Lena with a genuine smile. "What my 'beast of a companion' means to say is that this is a fine breakfast."
"Who are you calling a beast, human?" Sylvanie sent a deadly glare his way as she continued to chomp down on her food.
"The one who is sitting at the table acting like she wasn't raised with manners!" Oreon shouted at her.
Sylvanie gets in Oreon's face, mouth full of food. "Listen here, Human, I'll have you know that..."
Celestia sighs as the two resume their arguing as she looks over at Lena. "Lena, tell your mom that the food is great, and we greatly appreciate the hospitality that she has shown us."
Lena beams at the compliment, her eyes lingering on Celestia perhaps a moment longer than necessary. "I'll tell her! She's just finishing up some packages for your journey." She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "She was up before dawn, gathering herbs from her special garden. The one where she grows the plants that aren't just for cooking, if you know what I mean."
Celestia and Sylvaine exchange a glance at this information. Healing herbs would be valuable on their journey, but the mention of Mira's "special garden" suggested something more—perhaps the woman knows Elven herb craft few humans possess.
Lena continues chattering as she refills their cups. "Will you be traveling far? The roads aren't as safe as they used to be. There's been talk of strange folk passing through—men in dark cloaks asking questions."
Sylvaine's hand freezes mid-reach for her cup, her crimson eyes sharpening with sudden intensity. She shoots a warning glance at Celestia before turning her attention back to the unsuspecting Lena.
"What kind of questions?" she asked, her tone casual despite the tension now evident in her posture.
Lena, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere, shrugs as she continues arranging cutlery on the table.
"Oh, you know—asking if anyone unusual has passed through. Specifically mentioned elves, which is silly, really. We hardly ever see Elven folk this far from the border forests." She glances up, suddenly seeming to realize who she's speaking to. "I mean, before you two, of course! Mira told me not to stare, but I've never seen elves up close before. Your ears are just as pretty as the stories say!"
Celestia manages a gracious smile despite the alarming information. "Thank you, Lena. That's very kind. These men who were asking questions—when were they here last?"
"Just yesterday evening, right before you guys got here," Lena replies, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Three of them. They didn't stay long—just asked their questions and moved on. Mira didn't like the look of them one bit. Said they had cold eyes." She shivers slightly at the memory. "They paid in silver, though—strange coins with symbols I've never seen before."
Oreon's expression darkens as he exchanges a meaningful glance with Celestia. "Did they say where they were headed?" he asks, keeping his tone conversational despite the tension evident in his shoulders.
Lena shakes her head, her ponytails swinging with the movement. "No, but they were riding east when they left. Oh! And one of them had this strange crystal thing that glowed red when he held it up. Said he was 'testing the air,' whatever that means." She laughed nervously. "Mira shooed me inside when she saw it. Said it wasn't proper magic."
Sylvaine's knuckles turn white around her cup, though her face remains carefully neutral. "How fascinating," she said dryly. "Your village seems to attract all sorts of interesting visitors."
Before Lena can respond, the kitchen door swings open and Mira emerges, carrying a bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Her expression is composed, but there's a tightness around her eyes that wasn't there the previous evening. She looks at Lena with gentle firmness.
"Lena, dear, would you check on the bread? I believe the second batch should be ready to come out of the oven. Also, when you're done with that. I would like you to pick a few more herbs from the garden for our guest, please."
The girl nods eagerly and hurries off to the kitchen. Once she's out of earshot, Mira approaches the table, setting down the bundle with deliberate care.
"Reapers," she said without preamble, her voice barely above a whisper. "The group Lena mentioned. They serve as death bringers for the Holy Order. The crystal she described is a blood-scrying stone—it glows in the presence of Elven magic."
Celestia's serene expression falters for just a moment, a flicker of alarm crossing her features before she regains her composure. "Then we've lingered too long already," she said softly. "With the reapers looking for us as well..."
"Then that means we have a bounty on our heads." Oreon crossed his arms as he slouched in his seat a bit.
"Naturally," Sylvanie glances over at Oreon. "What did you think was going to happen once we escaped your father's chambers? They probably alerted every city in this region for our capture. Probably promised a lot of gold for the one to bring us in." She grunted.
"Aye, I fear with the Order involved, many will be after you."Mira pushes the bundle closer, her hardened hands moving with practiced efficiency as she speaks in hushed tones.
Sylvaine reaches for the bundle, her slender fingers brushing against Mira's as she takes it. For a moment, something unspoken passes between them—a recognition, perhaps, of shared knowledge that goes beyond what either has admitted.
"You know more than a simple tavern keeper should," Sylvaine observes, her crimson eyes narrowed with suspicion despite the woman's help. "Who are you? Why risk yourself for us?"
Mira's gaze flickers to the wooden token hanging around her neck, now visible in the morning light. The symbol carved into it is ancient Elven script intertwined with what appears to be a tree of life.
"Not all humans celebrated when Vel'Andria fell," she says simply. "Some of us remember the old alliances. The time before the Holy Order twisted faith into a weapon." She touches the token reverently. "My grandmother was a healer who trained under her Elven masters. This was her parting gift from them."
Celestia's eyes soften with recognition. "The Grove of the North," she whispers. "The group of humans that sided with Vel'Andria, making blood vows to help keep the balance of power in check. I thought they had all perished decades ago.
Mira offers a sad smile. "Most did. Those who remain stay hidden, passing knowledge in whispers. But we haven't forgotten our oaths." She glances toward the kitchen to ensure Lena hasn't returned yet. "You must leave within the hour. Take the back path through the orchard—it connects to the old forest road. The Reapers rarely venture there; the trees... disapprove of their presence. However, the Reapers are probably the least of your concerns." She added. "One of the Order's assassins paid a visit last night, but the ways of the old magic kept him at bay."
A small, sly smirk appeared on Sylvanie's face. "Oh, an Assassin; well, aren't we popular?" She said as she turned her gaze towards Oreon and her sister. "How about that, we have an assassin on our tails as well. I wonder what other methods the Order will try to put together to throw us back in chains." She placed a finger on her chin as her voice rang sarcastically.
Oreon finishes the last of his food, his expression grim but determined. "We're grateful for your help, Mira. But I won't see you endangered for our sake. If they return—
"They'll find nothing but a simple tavern keeper with a simple tavern." Mira finished.
Mira's face softens at Oreon's words, a complex mixture of emotions flickering across her features—grief, affection, and a steely resolve that belies her gentle appearance. She reaches the table; her calloused hand briefly touches his.
"Your mother would be proud of the man you've become, Oreon, Alice too," she said softly, her voice thick with memory. "But they'd also box your ears for thinking I need protection. I've been outfoxing the Order's dogs since before you could lift those daggers, boy." A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "I've survived three regime changes, two plagues, and the Holy Order's rise to power. I'm not as defenseless as I appear."
Celestia watches this exchange with quiet interest, her sapphire eyes moving between Oreon and Mira. The revelation of their deeper connection adds another layer to the already complex tapestry of their journey.
"It seems you knew his family well," she observes gently.
Mira nodded, withdrawing her hand from Oreon's. "His mother was like a daughter to me. Alice..." Her voice catches slightly. "Alice was barely an adult when she fell at her father's hands."
Sylvaine, who had been maintaining her usual mask of detached cynicism, shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Something about the mention of Oreon's sister seems to pierce through her carefully constructed walls. Her crimson eyes briefly reflect a pain that mirrors Oreon's own.
"Mom, wouldn't let you fight alone." Oreon returns. "She wouldn't want me to leave, knowing that the Order will come back and possibly...
"Oh, my boy," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You've carried that burden far too long. Your mother and Alice—they never blamed you. Not for a single moment. Besides, you were far too young to be considered a threat." A deep, weary sigh escaped Mira's lips.
"The Holy Order took much from many of us," Mira continues, straightening her apron with practiced composure. "But I've survived their scrutiny before, and I'll do so again. My protection doesn't come from swords, but from appearing too insignificant," Mira continues, her voice lowering to barely above a whisper, "...to notice. The most dangerous woman in the room is often the one serving the ale." A hint of steel flashes in her eyes, suggesting depths of resolve that belie her humble appearance. "Besides, they've already searched here once. Their arrogance makes them predictable—they rarely check the same place twice."
"Mira, still I...." Oreon began, but was stopped as he saw Mira raise her hands softly to halt his words.
"They wouldn't want you lingering here when danger approaches. Your mother would tell you to move forward, to finish what you've started."
Mira's voice grows firmer, the tavern keeper momentarily replaced by something older and wiser.
"The path you walk now isn't the one she hoped for. She wanted you to live a normal life, but under these circumstances..." The sound of clattering pans from the kitchen breaks the moment. Mira glances toward the noise before reaching beneath her collar to pull out a small leather punch on a cord. "Your mother knew you had strength, She never wanted you to get involved in all of this chaos, but now..."She closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them.
"Take this," she insisted, pressing it into Oren's palm and closing his fingers around it. "It was your mother's. I've kept it safe all these years, waiting for the right time."
Oreon opens his hand, revealing a small, silver amulet—a crescent moon cradling a star, tarnished with age, yet gleaming faintly, the ancient symbol of the resistance.
"I can't..."
"You must," Mira interrupted firmly
Oreon lowers his eyes as he accepts the amulet. "Mom used to tell me that no matter how dark it gets, there is light shining somewhere. I just have to find it." He said as he looks at the amulet in his hand.
"But ever since that day, it's always been dark..." Oreon's hand brushed against the rough dragon shard already nestled in his pocket as he added the amulet; the shard's familiar, pulsing heat made his eyes widen in sudden realization. "Mira, is there anything you can tell me about this?" He asks, pulling out the dragon shard.
"I stole it before I freed these two from my father's chambers." He showed her. "They called it..." He gestures towards the Elven sisters. "Called it a shard of the Draconian Orb,"
Mira's eyes widen at the sight of the crimson shard, her body visibly tensing as if Oreon had just placed a venomous serpent on the table. The tavern keeper's wrinkled features drains of color, and she instinctively takes a half-step back, making a subtle warding gesture with her right hand—an ancient sign of protection rarely seen in modern times.
"By all the old gods," she whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse. "You carry a fragment of the Draconian Orb? Child, do you have any idea what you've done? What you have?"
Celestia leans forward, her sapphire eyes fixed on the shard with a mixture of fascination and dread. The morning light catches the crystal's facets, sending blood-red reflections dancing across her pale features.
Oreon just shook his head slowly as he looked down at the red shard in his hand. "I don't know much about it. Only what my mother told me once, and that was that the red shards should never be united."
Mira glances nervously toward the kitchen before leaning in, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "The legends said it was shattered centuries ago," she murmurs, more to herself than the others. "Scattered across the realms so that its power could never be unified again."
Sylvaine's crimson eyes narrow as she studies the shard with predatory intensity, her fingers twitching slightly, as if resisting the urge to snatch it.
"And yet here it is," Sylvaine finishes, her voice uncharacteristically hushed. "A piece of the most destructive artifact ever created, casually pulled from your pocket like a copper coin."
Mira glances nervously toward the windows, then back at the shard. With trembling fingers, she reaches for a clean cloth napkin and spreads it on the table.
"Put it here," she instructs Oreon firmly. "Quickly now."
When he complies, she carefully folds the cloth around the shard without touching it directly, her movements precise and reverent. The morning light seems to dim slightly, as if clouds have passed over the sun, though the sky outside remains clear.
"The Draconian Orb was never meant for human hands," Mira explained, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "It was forged in the First Age by the Elder Dragonborn as a vessel to contain chaos magic too volatile even for their mastery. When the Holy Order rose to power, they sought it not to destroy it, but to harness it." Mira's eyes grow distant, as if seeing across centuries. "...to harness it for their own ends. They believed it could fuel their divine magic, elevate them to godhood itself." She shook her head slowly. "But the orb resisted their control. In their arrogance, they attempted to bind it through blood sacrifice—the blood of dragonborn elders. The ritual backfired catastrophically.
Celestia's brow furrows as she watches the cloth-wrapped shard, a faint luminescence still visible through the fabric.
"The shattering," she said softly. "The event that scorched the Blighted Lands and turned the night sky red for a fortnight."
Mira nods grimly. "The Holy Order's founding myth claims they were divinely tasked with containing the orb's power. They say the first Radiant Knight shattered it with a heaven-blessed sword, splintering its chaos into seven shards."
Sylvaine leans forward, her voice sharp with sudden realization. "And now they're missing one. This one."
Mira's face grows ashen as she continues, her voice dropping even lower.
"If they complete the orb," she whispered, "the power they would wield would be beyond imagining. Not just destruction—though there would be plenty of that—but the ability to reshape reality itself. To rewrite the very laws that bind our world." She looks directly at Oreon, her eyes intense. "They would remake creation in their image. A world where their dominion is absolute, where elves and other races they deem 'impure' might never exist at all."
A heavy silence falls over the table. Outside, a bird calls cheerfully, the sound jarringly at odds with the weight of Mira's words.
Celestia's slender fingers curl into fists on the tabletop, her knuckles whitening. "That would explain why they've been so methodical in their conquest. Each kingdom they subjugate, each library they burn, each elder they torture, they're not just winning a war. They're erasing history, just to rewrite it."
Mira carefully pushes the cloth-wrapped shard back toward Oreon, her movements deliberate and precise.
"Your father—Alaric—has spent decades searching for this final piece. It's why he rose so quickly through the Order's ranks... why he was granted powers and privileges beyond his station." Her eyes meet Oreon's, filled with a mixture of fear and resolve. "And why he will never stop hunting you now that you've taken it."
Celestia's serene face has grown pale, her slender fingers interlaced tightly on the table before her.
"The chaos energy within even this single fragment could level a city if unleashed without control," she said softly. "I can feel it pulsing, like a heartbeat beneath the world."
Sylvaine's crimson eyes gleam with dangerous curiosity as she studies the shard. "How do we destroy it?" She asks with her voice hard with determination. "There must be a way."
Mira shakes her head slowly, her expression grim. Mira's weathered hands fold together on the table as she chooses her words carefully.
"The ancient texts speak of only one way," she said finally. "The orb must be returned to the place of its creation, the Forge of Souls, deep within the heart of the Dragonspine Mountains. Only there, in the same fires that birthed it, can it truly be unmade."
Sylvaine lets out a harsh laugh, leaning back in her chair.
"Wonderful. We simply need to journey to the most inhospitable mountain range in the realm, find a mythical forge that may not even exist anymore, all while being hunted by the Holy Order's most elite dogs." She looks over at Oreon. "Perhaps we should stop and slay a few dragons along the way, just to make it interesting."
Celestia shoots her sister a reproachful glance before turning back to Mira.
"The Dragonspine Mountains lie beyond the Blighted Lands," she said thoughtfully. "No one has successfully crossed that wasteland in centuries. The chaos magic there warps both land and living creatures."
Mira nods solemnly, her eyes reflecting memories of stories passed down through generations.
"Indeed. The Blighted Lands are a testament to what happens when chaos magic is unleashed without control. But there is a path—one known only to the keepers of the old knowledge." She reaches beneath her collar again, this time producing a small, worn leather-bound book no larger than her palm. This contains maps and passages written by those who once walked safely through those cursed lands."
She places the book beside the wrapped shard, her fingers lingering on its cracked spine.
"The journey you speak of... It's not just dangerous, it's nearly impossible. But 'nearly' is not the same as 'completely.'" She looks up at the three of them, her gaze settling finally on Oreon.
"Your mother believed in impossible things," she said quietly. "She believed peace amongst all races was possible. She believed the Holy Order's reign would someday end. Most of all, she believed in you, Oreon."
She pushes both the wrapped shard and the small book toward him.
"The path ahead is treacherous beyond measure, but you three..." her eyes move from Oreon to Celestia to Sylvaine, "You three together might just have what it takes. The warrior with a heart true to his lost family. The light elf with wisdom beyond her years. And the dark elf whose fury burns bright enough to cut through any shadow."
Sylvaine scoffs, though there's less bite in it than usual.
"You make us sound like characters from a children's tale," she muttered, but her posture had straightened, a subtle sign that Mira's words had affected her more than she'd care to admit.
Celestia reaches out, her slender fingers brushing against the book. "Knowledge is its own kind of magic," she said softly, her blue eyes reflecting the morning light. "And perhaps the most powerful kind in these dark times."
Reverently, she lifts the small tome, its aged leather cool to the touch, carefully opening it to reveal pages filled with faded, sepia-toned ink and intricate diagrams—star charts, ley line mappings, and paths drawn through territories now considered impassable, the paper whispering softly as she turns the pages.
Oreon gathers the cloth-wrapped shard, securing it in an inner pocket of his vest, close to his heart but hidden from sight. His expression is solemn yet determined, the weight of responsibility settling visibly across his broad shoulders.
"We should leave immediately," he said, rising from his seat. "Every moment we linger puts you in greater danger, Mira."
The older woman nods, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll prepare the last of your supplies. Lena and I will create a distraction if needed—give you time to slip away unnoticed."
As Mira disappears into the kitchen, Sylvaine leans closer to Celestia and Oreon, her voice barely audible.
"Are we truly contemplating this madness?" she hissed, crimson eyes darting between her sister and the human. "The Dragonspine Mountains? Through the Blighted Lands? We might as well slit our throats and save the Order the trouble."
Celestia's delicate brow furrows as she studies the ancient book, her slender fingers tracing the faded maps.
"What choice do we have, Sylvanie?" she whispered back. "If what Mira says is true, this shard could mean the end of everything—not just for elves, but for all free people."
Oreon's hand unconsciously moves to the pocket containing both the wrapped shard and his mother's amulet, feeling their weight against his chest.
"I didn't free you both just to lead you to your deaths," he said quietly, his eyes meeting Sylvaine's challenging gaze without flinching. "But I won't force either of you to follow me. Once we're safely away from here, we can part ways if…"
"You wish." Sylvaine's eyes narrow dangerously, a flicker of violet energy momentarily dancing between her fingertips before she suppresses it.
"And let you wander off alone with a fragment of the most powerful artifact in existence?" she scoffed, tossing her violet hair over one shoulder. "I think not, human. You'd be dead within a day without us."
Celestia places a gentle hand on her sister's arm, a silent request for restraint that Sylvaine acknowledges with the barest incline of her head.
"What my sister means," Celestia says, her voice a low, calming hum, "is that our fates are now intertwined, Oreon."
Oreon studies both sisters for a long time, his expression unreadable. The weight of their shared history—of all that has been lost and all that might yet be saved—hangs in the air between them. Finally, he gives a single, solemn nod.
"Then we face this together," he says quietly, his voice carrying the weight of a vow. "To the Dragonspine Mountains, through whatever lies between."
"Now you're talking human," Sylvanie stated, crossing her arms with a slight smirk.
"It won't be easy, either way; we're still going to be pursued by the order. If this will end it, then we must take a chance," Celestia replied as the three looked at each other and nodded their head in unison, officially making their pact.
Meanwhile, the morning sunlight filters through the tavern's back windows, casting long shadows across the herb garden where Lena is fulfilling her mother's request. Her nimble fingers move with practiced efficiency, selecting sprigs of feverfew and yarrow for fever reduction, valerian root for sleep, and dried elderberry for general immunity. Her basket fills steadily as she hums a half-remembered tune from her childhood.
She doesn't notice how the birds have suddenly gone silent. Doesn't see how the shadows behind her deepen and stretch in ways that defy the sun's position. The air grows inexplicably colder, carrying the faint scent of decay and something metallic—like old blood.
The figure moves with unnatural grace, its boots making no sound against the dewy grass. Darkness seems to cling to it like a second skin, its features obscured beneath a hood lined with sigils that hurt the eye to look upon directly. Only the smile is visible—a predatory grin of perfect white teeth that are just slightly too sharp to be human.