Inside, warmth hits them like a tide — laughter, spilled ale, and the scent of roasted meat. Garruk’s booming laugh is the first sound heard as he slaps Borin on the back hard enough to nearly dislodge a lung.
“Told ye I’d make it back before dark, big fella!”
“You got lost for half an hour because you followed your own footprints, ye drunk ox,” Borin grumbles.
Across the table, Vex and Laz are halfway into a story neither seems to agree on —
“I told you the demon had three horns, not four!”
“It had four! The fourth one was hidden by his ridiculous haircut.”
Kaer sits with arms crossed, face unreadable, as the twins dramatically act out an exaggerated battle complete with poor mimicry of dragon roars.
“You two done?” he finally mutters.
“Never, your Majesty,” Laz says with a grin and a theatrical bow.
Kaer’s eye twitches. “I regret teaching you sarcasm.”
The group roars with laughter.
The door opens. Candlelight flickers over Elaris and Arden as they step in from the night — both drenched, both quiet.
Garruk waves them over immediately.
“Oi! The scholars return! Did ye find what we’re stabbin’ next?”
Elaris smirks faintly. “Potentially everything.”
He spreads a damp parchment across the table. The map of the Crimson Queen’s domains unfolds like a bloodstained spiderweb. The laughter fades.
Elaris explains what they’ve uncovered — the Five Hearts, the corrupted lattice, the Queen’s bid for divinity. The firelight reflects off his eyes as he speaks; there’s weight in every word.
Arden fills in details from the archives:
“We can’t go after the dragon first. He’s her first and strongest.
But if we weaken the other Hearts — the lattice will destabilize.”
Kaer nods.
“We go for the weaker generals first, build knowledge, allies, supplies.”
Garruk raises his mug.
“And ale. Never forget ale.”
Vex adds slyly, “You never do.”
The table bursts into laughter again — a welcome reprieve from the grim subject.
They plan long into the night — names written, routes sketched, arguments about priorities filling the space between laughter and tension.
Even Kaer cracks a smile when Borin draws what’s supposed to be a tactical diagram but ends up looking suspiciously like a goat.
“It’s a siege beast, lad!” Borin insists.
“Looks like it’s eating a cart.”
“Aye, siege beasts gotta eat too!”
Hours later, the Tankard grows quiet. Patrons stumble home, the hearth burns low.
Elaris lingers by the dying fire, half-buried in thought.
Arden sits nearby, staring at her holy symbol, her face unreadable — replaying every word from the archives.
Sereth notices.
She pads over, bare feet soft against the wooden floor. Her voice is gentle.
“You’ve been quiet all night. What’s wrong?”
Arden startles slightly, caught off guard.
“Just… thinking.”
Sereth tilts her head.
“About what?”
A pause. A flicker of guilt crosses Arden’s face.
“Something Elaris said. Something he’s carrying. But it’s not mine to share.”
Sereth studies her friend’s face, searching — then nods.
“Alright. I trust you.”
There’s a long silence before she adds quietly,
“Something’s different. I felt it when he spoke. I don’t just like him, Arden… I feel him. Like my heart’s caught in the same rhythm as his. It’s not normal. Something’s bound us.”
Arden’s expression softens. She chooses her words carefully.
“Maybe it’s not something to fear.”
Sereth looks down at her bow — now gleaming silver-white, faint runes tracing its limbs.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“Heartstring changed… it’s never looked like this before.”
Arden smiles knowingly.
“That’s because when the Fey took you, he held it. He thought of you, and in that moment, he poured a piece of himself into the bow. His magic answered his heart. Now it’s part of you both.”
Sereth’s eyes widen — and the blush that follows could light the room.
“He—he what?! I—He—Oh gods—”
She covers her face, laughing breathlessly, completely undone.
“I can’t—Arden—”
Arden chuckles softly.
“Seems he has a way of changing more than just fate.”
Sereth turns, still pink-faced, murmuring to herself:
“One day… we’ll be together forever.”
She walks away, giggling under her breath.
As she passes the others:
Vex, deadpan: “She’s talking to herself again.”
Laz: “No. She’s in love.”
Vex: “Ew.”
Laz: “Agreed.”
Both pretend to gag in perfect sync.
Kaer, without looking up:
“If you two vomit on the floor, you’re cleaning it.”
Borin: “Aye, and make sure ye don’t use me tankard this time.”
Garruk leans back, grinning.
“Ah, young love. Remember when life was simple, Borin?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Laughter fills the air again as Sereth disappears upstairs — giggling still — and Arden hides her smile behind her cup, quietly relieved that some warmth has returned to them all.
Elaris stands alone by the window, watching moonlight drift through the glass. His mark pulses faintly once — then fades.
He doesn’t know what Sereth said.
But he feels it — that flutter again, like two heartbeats out of sync but tethered by the same thread.
He smiles faintly, eyes closing as he whispers,
“Sleep well, Sereth.”
And the silver bow upstairs hums softly in answer.
Morning sunlight spills through the Ember Tankard’s shutters, cutting across overturned mugs and half-eaten bread. The smell of ale and roasted meat still lingers — as does the faint sound of Garruk’s snoring from under a table.
At the head of the table, the Twins enter with surprising grace, their horns polished, their matching grins in place.
Sereth and Arden stand and dip into playful mock-curtsies.
Sereth: “Good morning, your infernal majesties.”
Arden: “May your breakfast be as dignified as your hangovers.”
Before either twin can retort, Kaer — sipping something far too bitter to be coffee — looks up and deadpans:
“Ah yes, here come Lord Lazandros Von Goat’s Cheese and Princess Pancakes of the Sulking Hells.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then — he laughs.
A sharp, unexpected bark of genuine laughter.
The entire table freezes mid-motion.
Borin: “...Did—did he just—?”
Garruk (still under the table): “Kaer’s laughin’? Who spiked my ale?”
Vex (flatly): “He mocked us and laughed. I feel... violated.”
Laz (grinning): “I’m keeping the title. Lord Lazandros Von Goat’s Cheese. It has... flair.”
Kaer stands, still smirking.
“Glad you like it, your grace.”
He nods once — a soldier’s bow — and strides out into the dawn, leaving a stunned silence behind him.
The twins just stare after him, mouths open.
Arden, quietly: “You broke him.”
Sereth: “No... I think we fixed him.”
Outside, the morning is soft and pale.
Elaris sits at a stone bench beyond the inn’s garden, eyes half-closed, a faint green shimmer around his fingertips. His voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’ll be careful. You’d like them... even the loud ones.
No, especially the loud ones.”
(A pause.)
“Yes... I’m trying to be happy again.
I think... I’m remembering how.”
There’s silence — then a faint echo, not in the air but inside him.
A voice only he can hear.
Soft. Familiar.
“I know, Father. I can feel it.”
A tear glints down his cheek. He exhales, steadying himself — and that’s when he feels it: a warmth. Not from the mark, not from the magic — from something deeper.
He turns — Sereth stands behind him.
Elaris quickly finishes the communion, brushing a thumb over his pendant as the glow fades.
He turns with that small, polite smile of his — the one that’s always half guarded.
Elaris: “You caught me talking to myself again.”
Sereth: “You... do that often?”
Elaris: “Only when the dead have good company.”
There’s that tone — the one that makes her both laugh and want to throw something at him.
She steps closer, arms folded, trying to look casual but failing spectacularly.
Sereth: “I... just wanted to say, the bow—it’s different now.
When I think of you, it glows. When you think of me...”
Elaris tilts his head, brow furrowed but eyes gentle.
Elaris: “Perhaps it’s responding to sentiment. Magic has a way of reflecting what we refuse to say.”
She smirks.
Sereth: “You mean feelings?”
Elaris: “I was trying to sound profound, but yes. Feelings.”
They both chuckle — the air between them lighter now.
A breeze catches her hair as she studies him quietly.
Sereth: “Do you ever wish things were simpler?”
Elaris: “Every day. But simplicity never forged anything worth keeping.”
She looks down, smiling faintly.
Sereth: “So... I’m worth keeping, then?”
Elaris blinks — caught completely off guard. His usual composure falters.
He opens his mouth, shuts it again, then sighs, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
Elaris: “You ask dangerous questions before breakfast.”
Sereth: “And you dodge them like a professional.”
Elaris’s mark begins to glow — a soft pulse, almost rhythmic. He glances down, realizing it’s matching the beat of her heart.
Elaris: “Strange…”
Sereth grins, eyes narrowing in amusement.
Sereth: “What?”
He says nothing — but the mark pulses faster.
Her grin widens.
Sereth: “You blush.”
He actually does.
The great necromancer, conqueror of death itself, flushes crimson like a teenager.
Elaris: “That’s absurd.”
Sereth: “It’s adorable.”
They stand in silence for a moment, the sunlight glinting off Heartstring’s silver surface. Then, quietly, he says:
Elaris: “You’re more than worth keeping, Sereth... I—”
For a moment his composure slips completely, eyes darting to the ground.
For a heartbeat, she doesn’t move — just looks at him, eyes wide, breath caught.
Then she steps forward and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.
Sereth: “You’re terrible at flirting, you know.”
Elaris: “That’s not what you said when—”
Sereth: “Don’t. Push. It.”
Her cheeks flushed, she turns and walks away quickly, giggling under her breath, heart racing.
Elaris watches her go, unable to help the quiet laugh that escapes him.
He looks down at his mark as it glows faintly — not ominously this time, but softly, in rhythm with that same unexplainable warmth.
Elaris (softly): “Maybe not so dead after all.”
The silver runes along Heartstring shimmer once more from inside the tavern — almost as if it heard him.