The Ember Tankard had long gone quiet.
But in Elyra’s little room beneath the rafters, sleep refused to come.
She sat perched on the edge of her bed, blanket pooled around her waist, legs dangling off the side.
The lantern by her bedside glowed faintly — silver flame, her signature.
She stared at her toes.
They wiggled.
Slowly.
Not enough.
A shiver ran up her calves — that familiar, frightening numbness.
Like frost made of glass.
Elyra swallowed.
Elyra (softly, to no one):
“Not now. Please… not now.”
She pressed her palms hard against her thighs, willing sensation back.
Her breath hitched.
She remembered Northreach —
the echo of Silvenna’s crystalline hold,
the way her legs had seized,
the helplessness,
the shame,
the terror.
In her mind, the glass crept upward again.
Her hands shook.
She curled forward, hugging her knees, whispering to the quiet room:
Elyra:
“It’s just memory. It has to be.
Please… just be memory…”
But the truth she feared pressed against her ribs:
It wasn’t just memory anymore.
And she didn’t know how to tell them.
A soft knock sounded at her door.
Elyra startled, immediately straightening.
Elyra:
“C-come in?”
It was Arden — soft golden robes, hair down, eyes gentle.
Arden crossed the room, sat beside her.
No questions.
Just warmth.
After a moment, Arden reached out and rested a hand on Elyra’s lower back — a quiet gesture of grounding.
Arden (whisper):
“I heard you breathing fast.”
Elyra’s throat tightened.
But she forced a smile.
Elyra:
“Just— just thinking.”
Arden’s celestial-golden gaze softened.
Arden:
“You don’t have to tell me now.
But when you’re ready —
I’ll listen.
No judgment.
No fear.”
Elyra closed her eyes.
Just a moment.
Just enough to breathe.
Downstairs, Elaris had retreated to the balcony, drawn to the cold air like a man trying to outrun his own mind.
Snowflakes drifted under the moonlight.
He gripped the railing, knuckles white.
Vaelith’s voice echoed.
Little Hawk… you dare…
Valthrix’s words slithered after.
I’ll come to collect, Shepherd…
Elaris inhaled sharply through his nose, fighting off the tremor.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
He didn’t need to turn.
He knew her footsteps.
Sereth:
“…you’re shaking.”
Her hands slid around his waist from behind — warm, grounding, sure.
His body softened.
Elaris (unsteady):
“Just thinking.”
Sereth:
“That’s usually the problem.”
She rested her cheek between his shoulder blades.
He exhaled — a trembling breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Elaris:
“I’m supposed to be strong for you.
For both of you.”
She slid around him, stepping into his view, hands cupping his face.
Sereth:
“You are strong.
But strong doesn’t mean unbreakable.”
His eyes closed as her thumbs brushed his cheeks.
Sereth (soft, fierce):
“You’re not alone in this war, Elaris.
And you don’t get to suffer quietly anymore.
Not with me.
Not with her.
We’re a family.
We share the weight.”
He swallowed.
Elaris:
“…I’m afraid, Sereth.”
She stepped closer, pressing her forehead to his.
Sereth:
“So am I.
But we walk forward anyway.”
And he breathed again.
Because she made him remember how.
Later, needing air, Elyra slipped out onto the smaller back porch of the Tankard.
Night air bit at her cheeks.
Stars glittered.
She lowered herself onto the wooden step and sat with a small groan — her legs aching, though she hid it even from herself.
A light rustle sounded behind her.
Pancake waddled out, cosmic fur shimmering faintly violet in the starlight.
He sat beside her with a soft plop, then leaned against her hip.
Pancake:
“You smell worried.”
Elyra actually laughed.
Soft.
Broken around the edges.
Real.
Elyra:
“Trying not to.”
Pancake squinted at her legs, then booped her knee with a paw.
She winced.
Pancake’s ears flattened.
Pancake (quietly):
“It’s getting worse?”
Elyra’s breath hitched.
She didn’t answer — and that was answer enough.
Pancake didn’t push.
Instead, he chirped, crawled into her lap (despite her legs protesting the weight), and curled up into a warm, vibrating ball of cosmic fur.
Elyra’s fingers sank into the fluff.
Elyra (whispering into his ears):
“Please don’t tell them yet…
I can’t.
Not until I know what’s happening.”
Pancake just hummed.
Not agreeing.
Not disagreeing.
Just staying.
And Elyra let herself lean back, eyes drifting upward, tears she wouldn’t acknowledge slipping down her cheeks and into the weasel’s fur.
Much later, back inside, Sereth returned to the bedroom where Elaris now sat on the bed — calmer, softer, but still holding the weight of the world in his shoulders.
She curled beside him and rested her head on his chest.
Down the hall, Elyra tucked Pancake beneath her covers, whispering her fears into the dark where only he could hear.
In each quiet room of Thornmere, three hearts beat —
different shapes, different fears,
bound by lattice, love, and fate.
A family.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Forged in war.
Held by will.
Threatened by gods.
And under the same old roof,
for one fragile night,
they allowed themselves to rest.
The Ember Tankard slept around her.
Elyra curled beneath her blankets, Pancake snoring softly in a warm, cosmic heap at her feet. Her legs felt tired — that strange, echoing numbness — but she forced herself to breathe slow and steady.
Her eyelids drifted closed.
The world softened.
And then—
The dream opened like a door.
She stood in the Vale forest, dappled sunlight shimmering across the clearing.
Bow in hand.
Heart light.
Sereth darted ahead of her, laughing, braid bouncing, movements so graceful Elyra felt her chest swell with pride trying to match her stride.
Sereth:
“Come on, Little Hawk! Faster!”
Elyra sprinted.
Jumped a fallen log.
Rolled under a low branch.
Kicked off a stump, flipped, landed perfectly—
She felt weightless, powerful.
Alive.
Then—
A flicker.
Just for a moment.
Her left foot didn’t quite respond.
A numbness, small as a spark, ran down her calf.
Elyra blinked.
Elyra:
“Huh?”
Sereth didn’t hear.
She was further ahead now, the sound of her laughter echoing like a distant bell.
Elyra tried to move.
Tried to run.
A step — two —
then her left leg buckled like a puppet with a cut string.
She slammed into the forest floor, breath knocked out of her.
Elyra:
“Mum?— Sereth?!—”
She looked up.
The clearing was empty.
Elyra pushed herself upright.
But when she tried to stand—
her left leg didn’t respond.
Not numb.
Not weak.
Absent.
She yanked off her boot.
Her breath disappeared.
Her leg — from knee downward — was pure crystalline glass.
Perfect. Smooth. Dead.
Light passed through it like frozen water.
Elyra’s voice cracked.
Elyra:
“No… no no— PLEASE— MOVE—”
She slapped it.
Scratched it.
Shook it with both hands.
No sensation.
None.
Her teeth clenched as she dragged herself upright on one leg, gripping branches, forcing herself up—
But as she rose—
The sunlight evaporated.
She blinked.
And she was back in the Ember Tankard.
Her family, the Dice, all laughing together around the table — the most comforting thing Elyra knew.
She tried to move toward them—
But her legs held fast.
Completely rigid.
Locked.
She looked down—
Both legs now glass up to her mid-thighs.
Her fingers trembled as she pressed a hand to the cold, smooth surface.
Elyra (panicking):
“Please move— just move— move— MOVE—”
Nothing.
She tried again.
Nothing.
The Dice began to rise, grabbing their cloaks, stepping toward the door—
Elyra:
“Wait— W-wait!
PLEASE!”
No one heard.
No one turned.
The door shut.
She was alone.
Completely frozen from the waist down.
Elyra jerked upright with a gasp.
Sweating.
Shaking.
Her heart pounding like thunder.
She heard footsteps and Sereth burst in, hair loose, eyes wild with fear.
Sereth:
“Elyra! What is it? Are you—”
Elyra was crying without meaning to.
She reached for her mother, voice breaking:
Elyra:
“M-mum, my legs— I couldn’t move— I was paralyzed— I—”
Sereth’s expression shifted.
Confusion.
Then gentle pity.
Sereth (soft):
“But love…
you haven’t been able to move them for a while.”
Elyra’s breath stopped cold.
Elyra:
“…What?”
Sereth stepped aside.
And Elyra saw it.
She wasn’t in bed.
She was in a wheelchair.
Her legs strapped in splints.
Both limbs gleaming with that faint crystalline sheen.
Dead.
Frozen.
Lost.
Elyra (whisper):
“No… no that’s not— that’s not—”
A shadow shifted.
Sereth’s form rippled.
Cracked.
Shattered—
Silvenna stood there instead.
Smile razor-thin.
Beautiful.
Cruel.
Silvenna:
“Little Light…
did you truly think the glass would ever let you go?”
Elyra screamed—
Her own scream ripped her awake.
She sat bolt upright in her real bed, sobbing, arms wrapped tight around her knees.
Within seconds the entire party burst through the door:
Sereth first — blades drawn, hair flying.
Elaris right beside her.
Kaer, Arden, Borin, Garruk, the twins — all ready to kill something.
Sereth dropped the blades instantly and sprinted to the bed.
Sereth:
“Elyra— Elyra— hey, hey, I’m here, I’m here— look at me—”
Elyra collapsed into her mother’s arms, shaking violently as Sereth held her like she would physically shield her from nightmares themselves.
Elaris crouched at her side, voice soft but burning with protectiveness.
Elaris:
“Tell us.
What happened?”
She tried—but words tangled with sobs.
Everyone slowly cleared out, giving the family space.
Till only Elaris and Sereth remained.
Elyra wiped her face, trembling.
Then she said it.
The words that froze the world:
Elyra:
“Mum… Dad…
I think I’m losing the use of my legs.”
Sereth stopped breathing.
Elaris went perfectly still.
The world shrank to the three of them.
Elaris moved first — reaching out, cupping his daughter’s cheeks gently.
Elaris:
“Tell us everything. All of it.
No hiding anymore.”
Through tears, she did.
The numbness.
The cold.
The episodes at night.
The collapse at Northreach.
The feeling of glass beneath her skin.
The dream.
All of it.
When she finished, she stared at her legs like they might betray her again.
Sereth:
“And now? Right now? How do they feel?”
Elyra flexed her toes.
Then her ankles.
Then her calves.
Everything responded.
Elyra:
“For now… it’s fine.”
Elaris inhaled — long and slow — then placed a hand gently on her knee, his voice low and steady like iron forming in a forge:
Elaris:
“Tomorrow, I start finding a way to stop this.
I will not let this happen to you.
This I swear.”
Sereth brushed Elyra’s hair back, eyes fierce with maternal fire.
Sereth:
“Little Hawk… is this the Queen?
Her mark?”
Elyra shook her head.
Pressed her lattice.
It pulsed silver.
Only silver.
Elyra:
“No.
It’s Silvenna.
It feels like… like when she trapped me.
My skin is changing, Mum.
Dad.
Please.
Am I going to be paralysed?”
Their answer came in perfect unison — one heart, one voice:
Sereth & Elaris:
“No.
You’re not.”
Elaris hugged her.
Sereth wrapped them both.
Elaris:
“We fix this.
We fix it together.
And we start tomorrow.”
Sereth:
“You are not alone.
You are never alone.”
Elyra pressed her forehead against theirs.
Their arms held tight.
And between them — despite fear, despite fate —
a spark of hope warmed the night.
Elyra finally slept.
Sereth stroked her hair until her breathing slowed, until her trembling eased.
Elaris kissed her forehead — a gentle, terrified gesture — then stood.
And without a word…
He left.
Not hurried.
Not frantic.
He walked with the kind of controlled, simmering purpose Sereth had never seen.
She knew where he was going.
She knew not to follow.
When Elaris is like this —
the world cracks or the world is saved.
The door slammed behind him with a blast of necrotic wind.
Candles guttered.
Scrolls rustled.
Shelves trembled.
Elaris threw open tomes with violent precision, flipping through pages so quickly the parchment smoked from friction.
Not books of arcana.
Not grimoires.
Not war manuals.
Healing. Restoration. Soul-binding recovery. Aberrant curse-breaking.
Anything that touched on crystalline magic — or anything remotely like it.
Page after page.
Spell after spell.
Curse after curse.
Every answer the same:
No known cure.
Progressive arcane ossification.
Loss of nerve function.
Irreversible resonance fractures.
Elaris’s hands shook.
He slammed one book shut so hard it cracked its spine.
Elaris:
“HEL—”
He stopped himself.
Then didn’t.
Elaris (roaring):
“HELLS!”
His voice shook the shelves.
Necrotic energy crackled.
A sultry voice slid through the air like poison silk:
Valthrix:
“You rang?”
Elaris didn’t even turn.
His skeletal mage hand manifested instantly.
It whipped backward, seized Valthrix by the throat, and lifted her clean off the ground.
Her quill clattered to the floor.
She clawed at the hand—
more in shock than pain.
Valthrix (choking, delighted):
“Hhh—how… invigorating…”
Elaris’s eyes were glowing green fire.
Not cold.
Not calculating.
Feral.
Elaris:
“WHAT. DID. YOU. DO. TO HER?”
Valthrix tried to speak but the mage hand tightened.
Her voice rasped:
Valthrix:
“N-not… m-me…”
Elaris:
“Then who?”
Her eyes rolled.
Her throat strained.
Barely audible—
Valthrix:
“Sil… venn…a…”
Elaris flicked his fingers.
The mage hand hurled her aside.
She dissolved into smoke mid-air and reformed gracefully by the window, fixing her hair as if she hadn’t just been strangled.
She picked up her quill, offended but amused.
Valthrix:
“Shepherd…
I’ve never seen that side of you before.
Gods, it’s almost— erotic.”
He ignored her completely and tore open another book.
Meanwhile, Sereth burst into the chapel like a storm.
Arden was already awake, armor half-donned, sensing the disturbance in Sereth’s soul.
Arden:
“Sereth? What—”
Sereth:
“—Saren.”
Her voice cracked.
“Arden. I need Saren. Now.”
Arden swallowed and placed a glowing hand on Sereth’s forehead.
Divine warmth filled the air.
Saren’s voice drifted through Arden’s lips — smooth and distant, like light filtered through water.
SAREN (through Arden):
“Child of the bow… why does your heart tremble?”
Sereth barely breathed the words:
Sereth:
“Elyra.
Her legs.
What is happening to her?”
Silence.
A heavy, divine silence.
Then—
SAREN:
“…Crystalline poisoning.”
Sereth froze.
Her heart stopped.
Sereth:
“What’s the cure?”
More silence.
Then:
SAREN:
“…Amputation.
To prevent spread.”
The words carved through her like a blade.
Sereth did not cry.
Did not break.
She became stone.
Sereth:
“No.
NO.
Absolutely not. That’s not happening.
WHAT ELSE?”
Saren was quiet.
Too quiet.
SAREN:
“It is beyond my divine influence.
I do not know the cure.”
Sereth trembled — once — then stood taller.
Sereth:
“THEN FIND SOMEONE WHO DOES.”
Saren hesitated.
SAREN:
“Perhaps… Silvenna’s death would end the resonance.
But I cannot promise it.”
Sereth’s fists clenched.
Her eyes flared with a hunter’s quiet, lethal resolve.
Sereth:
“Then we kill her.”
Elaris flipped another tome.
Another failure.
Another dead end.
His voice cracked:
Elaris:
“Why isn’t there ANYTHING?!”
Behind him, Valthrix paced like a bored cat.
Valthrix:
“How’s the wedding planning, by the way?
I don’t recall receiving an invite yet—”
TWANG!
Two arrows sliced through the air.
Valthrix vaporized them mid-flight with a flick of her fingers, leaving scorch marks on the walls.
Sereth stood in the doorway, bow raised, eyes feral.
Sereth:
“VALTHRIX.
GET. OUT.”
Valthrix lifted a brow.
Valthrix:
“He summoned me.”
Sereth scoffed.
Sereth:
“I doubt that.”
Elaris, still searching, hissed without turning:
Elaris:
“I want NOTHING from you.
No deals.
No contracts.
No help.”
Sereth approached.
Her voice was low.
Broken.
Sereth:
“It’s Crystalline Poisoning.”
Valthrix’s smile widened.
Her eyes glittered.
Valthrix:
“Ohhh.
So she’s losing a leg or two then.”
CRACK.
The skeletal mage hand appeared so fast it was a blur —
snapping around Valthrix’s chest, crushing down with bone-grinding force.
Valthrix choked—
then dissolved into smoke again.
She reformed sitting in one of Elaris’s chairs, legs crossed, tapping her quill.
Valthrix:
“No known cure, I’m afraid.
Unless…”
Both Elaris and Sereth snapped their heads toward her.
Elaris:
“WHO?!”
Valthrix:
“Nope.”
She popped the P.
Valthrix:
“You’ve both been incredibly rude tonight.
So I’m keeping that to myself.”
A dagger whizzed past her ear, slicing three perfect strands of copper hair.
Valthrix sighed dramatically.
Rose.
Smiled a dagger-sharp smile.
Valthrix:
“Goodnight, lovebirds.”
She vanished in a curl of brimstone and lilac smoke.
Leaving Elaris and Sereth alone—
Books everywhere.
Candles trembling.
Their daughter sleeping one room over.
And both realizing:
Silvenna didn’t just hurt Elyra.
She infected her.
And it’s getting worse
