As the night settled, the trio's bodies finally gave way to a well-deserved rest. Downstairs, Meara was closing up the Tavern. At the same time, her granddaughter Lena had already turned in for the night, having been given the okay by Meara. As the last few customers finally decided to head home for the night, a dark figure walked into the tavern.
As the night settled, the trio's bodies finally gave way to a well-deserved rest. Downstairs, Meara was closing up the Tavern. At the same time, her granddaughter Lena had already turned in for the night, having been given the okay by Meara. As the last few customers finally decided to head home for the night, a dark figure walked into the tavern.
Meara, without looking up from the glass that she was cleaning, said, "It's after hours, but I reckoned you're not here for a drink." She spoke without fear in her voice, looking up to see a tall, cloaked, covered figure wearing black holy garb adorned with the Holy Order insignia on his vest.
"Still as sharp as ever, Meara," a voice replied. The stranger's red eyes fixed on Meara's brown eyes, and a silent, tense standoff ensued, both individuals giving each other a slight glare.
The figure's tall, thin body cast a shadow in the dimly lit establishment as he emitted a low, dark chuckle.
"My, my." The figure scanned its surroundings briefly before its gaze returned to Meara. "Love what you've done to the place, it's so run down, so primitive. so...you." The concluding remarks flowed effortlessly, but they were laced with a foreboding insult.
Meara's hands never faltered as she continued wiping the glass, her weathered face betraying no emotion. "We're closed," She repeats firmly. "And I don't serve Order dogs, especially not those who've betrayed their kind."
The figure tilted his head, the movement almost serpentine in its fluidity. "Betrayed?" He repeated, placing a gloved hand over his chest as if he was offended. "Such harsh words for an old friend."
"We were never friends." Meara retaliated quickly, but her voice was still calm and steady. "And whatever business you have here, I suggest you conduct it elsewhere."
Ignoring her words. "The betrayal you speak of...I prefer to think of it as a form of evolution. Transcendence, even." He took slow steps as he calmly walked around the tavern, but clearly staying within her sight. "But I wouldn't expect a mere human to understand what it's like to go beyond their limitations." His gaze continued to survey the room. "Besides, I'm not here on Order business...Officially." He slightly narrowed his eyes while observing Meara. "Consider this a personal...visit."
Meara finally set her glass down. "A personal visit to harass an old woman in her own establishment? How noble of you, even after all this time, you still don't show an ounce of shame." Her voice was stern, yet laced with a hint of sarcasm. "You already know the drill by now, Vexes. I don't accept traitors in my home, now get out."
'Vexes' The figure—now identified—let out another low chuckle as he reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing sharp, angular features that were distinctly elven, though a more corrupted version. His eyes were red, with his pupils showcasing a holy cross in them. He had ashen grey skin and long, dark hair that reached past his shoulders. His pointed ears were a definitive sign that he was an elf, albeit a corrupted one.
"Traitor," Vexes repeated, rolling the word around his mouth as if tasting it. "How tiresome that label has become." He moved closer to the bar, his movements unwasted. "Tell me, Meara—when a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, do we call it a traitor to its former self? Or do we recognize it for what it truly is...an improvement?"
Meara's eyes hardened at the analogy, but she responded. "A butterfly doesn't slaughter its own kind to achieve its wings." She calmly placed both hands flat on the bar top in front of her, leaning forward slightly. "You sold your soul to those zealots. Helped them burn villages. Watched your own people dragged off in chains, "Her voice dropped coldly as she stared at him. "So don't you dare stand in my tavern and speak of improvement when all you did was give your freedom away to become a trained dog." She continued. "You, a dark elf of all creatures, walking alongside the Order. Disgraceful, where has your pride as an elf gone?"
Vexes's grin widened, revealing teeth that were just a bit too sharp to appear completely natural. "Pride?" He let out a genuine laugh this time. "Oh, Meara, pride is what kept my people chained to their arrogance for centuries. Pride is what made them believe they were...what's the phrase for it? ...Above it all." He let the words drag out a bit. "Elves, Dark elves, they were all the same...Struggling with their meaningless traditions, their pointless hierarchies."
"And what did you gain from abandoning all that?" Meara challenged, crossing her arms. "The 'honor' of hunting down your own kind? The privilege of being the Order's pet? Is that what you wanted? For the Holy glove to massage that discarded ego of yours?"
"Power" Vexes eyes gleamed. "True power, Meara. Not the fading magic of ancient bloodlines or the hollow authority of royal titles." He leaned forward slightly, his presence seeming to fill the room. "The Order showed me something my people were too blind to see—that divinity itself could be reshaped, remade into something...greater."
"You're insane," Meara stated flatly.
"Perhaps," Vexes conceded with a shrug. "But I'm also very much alive, while so many of my 'proud' brothers and sisters are...well..." He made a vague gesture. "Let's just say they're no longer in a position to judge my choices."
Meara's jaw tightened at that comment. "Get. Out."
"Ah, but I haven't even told you why I'm here yet," Vexes said, his tone shifting to something almost playful. He slightly tilted his head, those crimson eyes with their unsettling cross-shaped pupils studying her face. "Don't you want to know?"
"No."
"Pity." He reached into his cloak, and Meara's hand instinctively moved beneath the bar--toward something hidden there. But Vexes merely produced a small, folded piece of parchment, which he placed on the counter between them. "The Order is...curious about certain rumors circulating through this quaint little town."
Meara didn't look at the parchment. Her eyes remained locked on Vexes."
"Rumors," He continued. "About three individuals, to be precise. A foolish young human with a bleeding heart, with a distinctive...bloodline and two...well, let's just say they are elves who've lost their status." He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. "One with pale blond hair. The other is Violet and... Red eyes." His own red gaze seemed to gleam brighter. "Much like mine, actually. A dark elf. How...nostalgic."
Meara's expression remained carefully neutral. She stared at him for a moment before answering, carefully crossing her arms in front of her. "Don't know what you're talking about," she said evenly. "Plenty of travelers pass through here. Can't keep track of 'em all."
The dark elf's smile widened, revealing his sharp teeth once again. "Lies are unbecoming of you, Meara, human from the northern regions," he said softly. "The order knows of your...sympathies. Your little tavern has become quite the waypoint for those fleeing..." He paused, letting his snake-like tongue slither out of his mouth. "Purification..."
Meara didn't flinch, didn't move—but her eyes hardened like stone. "If you're so sure, why bother coming here at all? Why not just storm in with your holy cronies and drag whoever you're looking for out by their necks?"
Vexes chuckled once again. "Because dear Meara...I have my own interests." He traced a finger along the edge of the bar. "The Order wants them alive--for now. But what happens between capture and deliver?" He shrugged lazily. "Well, accidents happen. Besides, I do prefer a more...elegant approach. The Order may be powerful, but they're also...impatient. Reckless, even."
He continued to pace slowly, his footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor. "You see, I've learned something valuable over the years. Information is far more powerful than brute force." He paused, turning to face her again. "And you, my dear innkeeper, have always been a font of information."
Meara scoffed. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Vexes. Neither will threats."
"Threats?" He repeated, almost sounding hurt. "Then, how about I try a different angle. Call this, me giving you a chance to come clean. A courtesy, if you will."
A courtesy?" Meara repeated in disbelief.
"Indeed." Vexes clasped his hands behind his back, his posture almost regal despite the corruption that clung to him. "Tell me where they are, and I'll make sure the Order's arrival is...swift. Painless. For you and that sweet little granddaughter of yours." His smile widened. "Lena, wasn't it? Such a precious thing. It would be a shame if she got caught in the crossfire."
The air in the tavern seemed to freeze. Meara's face, which had remained composed throughout their exchange, suddenly shifted. Her brown eyes darkened, and something ancient and dangerous flickered behind them--a reminder that his woman had seen more than her fair share of conflict in her years.
"You dare..." She could barely be heard as her voice sank to a whisper, yet it carried more weight than any shout could have. "You come into my home. and not only threaten me, but you threaten my blood." She uncrossed her arms, now glaring at Vexes as if she was ready to kill him herself. "I've buried better men than you, Vexes. Men who thought their power made them untouchable."
Vexes's smirk widened. "Is that so?" He responded, amused.
"The Northern Campaigns. The Siege of Hollow Ridge. The Burning of Mirethel." Meara listed each name like a death sentence. "I was there for all of them. Watched empires crumble, and kings fall." She leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. "You think I'm afraid of some corrupted elf playing lapdog for zealots?"
For a brief moment--just a flicker--something passed across Vexes's features. Recognition, perhaps. Or was it...caution?
"Careful, old woman," He murmured, his playful tone fading slightly. "Age has a way of making us forget our limitations."
And arrogance has a way of making fools forget who they're dealing with." Meara straightened, reaching beneath the bar. "Tell me something, Vexes." Meara began as she continued to stare at him. "You've known me for how many years when you served at the round table of the elves?" She slowly moves her hand from under the bar. "To think you, out of all people, would stand before me and treat me like a frail, naive old woman, like I didn't know that you didn't step foot in this town alone." She pulled out a small wooden token carved with ancient Elven symbols. "You know what this is...Don't you?" She said threateningly.
Vexes's eyes widen slightly, his confident demeanor faltering for just a moment as he recognizes the wooden token in Meara's hand. The ancient Elven symbols carved into its surface began to pulse with a faint, ethereal glow, sending ripples throughout the tavern. This caused four other cloaked figures to come into view, dispelling their shadows and causing Vexes to grit his teeth.
"The Mark of Sylvanath," He hissed, taking an involuntary step back. "You're one of the Keepers?! When did the grove choose you?!"
Mira's stance shifts subtly, a new strength clear in her bearing as she holds the token aloft. The old innkeeper suddenly seems taller, more formidable—a glimpse of who she might have been before her days of serving ale.
"I was sworn to the Grove long before you sold your soul to the Order, Vexes," she said, her voice carrying power that wasn't there before. "So long as my loyalty holds, where I stand is protected ground. You have no authority here, Vexes."
The four cloaked figures shifted uneasily, their body language suggesting they were preparing an attack. But Vexes raised a hand, stopping them with a sharp gesture. His eyes stared at the glowing token and then shifted towards Meara.
"Stand down," Vexes commanded through his teeth. "That artifact...it's connected directly to the World Tree's roots. Any hostile action within its range and..." He trailed off.
"And the Grove responds," Meara finished for him, a grim smile tugging at her lips. "Every plant, every root, every blade of grass within a mile becomes my weapon." She pressed." Care to test how fast your holy magic can save you from being strangled by the very earth beneath your feet?"
Silence hung between them for a moment.
"A keeper..." Vexes snarled, his composure finally cracking slightly. "All these years, and you've been hiding under that pathetic guise of a simple tavern owner?"
"Hiding?" Meara let out a dry laugh, though her eyes remained sharp. "No, Vexes. Living." She lowered the token slightly, but its glow remained steady. "Something you forget how to do the moment you let those zealots carve their symbols into your soul."
One of the cloaked figures behind Vexes shifted forward slightly--eager, perhaps, or simply foolish. The floorboards beneath his feet groaned ominously, and thin roots began creeping up through the cracks, throughout the tavern like a tree losing its patience.
"I wouldn't," Meara warned without even looking at him. "The Grove doesn't take kindly to those who threaten its Keepers."
The figure froze, glancing down at the roots now coiling around his ankles. His companions shifted back instinctively, their earlier confidence completely vanishing, with caution taking its place.
Vexes gritted his teeth at the sight. "You think that trinket will save you?" Vexes spat, though he made no move to approach. "The Grove's power is fading, Meara. The old ways are dying. Soon, that token will be nothing more than a worthless piece of wood."
"Maybe," Meara admitted, her voice steady despite the tension. "But not tonight. And not while I still draw breath." She took a step forward, and the glow from the token intensified, forcing Vexes and his companions to take another step back.
The roots continued their slow, deliberate crawl across the tavern floor, weaving between tables and chairs like snakes awakening from a long slumber. The air grew thick with the scent of earth and growing things--a primal energy that made the holy symbols on Vexes's garb flicker uncertainly.
"You've made your point, old woman," Vexes hissed, his eyes darting between the encroaching roots and the glowing token. His earlier smugness had evaporated, replaced by a look that clearly showed he was reassessing the situation.
"Have I?" Meara took a step forward. "Because I don't think you're listening properly. "The roots around the frozen figure's ankles tightened, drawinga strangled gasp from beneath his hood. "You come into my home. Threatened my granddaughter. And for what? to play messenger boy for those who'd sooner see you burned alongside the rest of your kind?"
Vexes remained quiet for a moment before taking a step back. "This isn't over, Keeper." He growled. "The Grove's power is weakening. It won't protect you forever."
"Maybe," Meara admitted. "But tonight, tonight it holds. Now leave my tavern and take your dogs with you. And you tell your masters that if they want what's under my roof..." She raised the token higher, its light now casting across the tavern in full. "They have to go through the Grove itself."
For a long moment, nobody moved. The tension was suffocating.
Then Vexes let out a slow breath, his lips curling into a sneer. "Very well, Keeper." He spat that title like a curse. "Enjoy your...borrowed time." He turned his back towards Meara as the roots reluctantly released his companion on their own, and the remaining cloaked figures turned away as well. "But remember this--Tomorrow is a new day, and the Grove won't protect...Everything. Sleep well, Keeper. Today's battle goes to you."
Meara didn't lower the token until the last shadow of Vexes and his group disappeared into the night. Even then, she held it for a few moments longer, her hand trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer amount of energy the artifact had drawn from her.
Once she was sure that the last of them had left, she finally let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the weight of the confrontation settled over her.
"Damn fool..." She muttered, tucking the token back beneath the bar. The glow had faded now, leaving the tavern in its usual warm candlelight.
The silence that followed felt almost deafening after such an exchange. Meara leaned heavily against the bar, her hands gripping the edge as she steadied herself. The roots that had crept across the floor began to slowly retreat, slithering back through the cracks in the floorboards.
"I'm getting too old for this..." She sighed as she poured herself a drink, downing it in one go."It's been years since I've invoked the grove's power. I should have known it wasn't going to respond in kind." She gritted a bit before regaining control of her breathing. "But I can't stop now." She pushes herself upward and begins to move. Locking the door and drawing the heavy shutters closed over each window.
Once she had made sure all entrances were sealed, she retrieved a small pouch of herbs from beneath the floorboards behind the counter and began 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.
The herbs began to glow faintly as they touched the floor, creating a subtle web of protective magic that spread throughout the tavern. It wasn't as powerful as the Grove's token, but it would provide an additional layer of defense—enough to buy them time if Vexes decided to return with reinforcements.
As she finished the ritual, Meara paused at the bottom of the stairs, her hand gripping the railing. Her body ached from channeling the Grove's power, and exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders. But there was no time to rest—not yet.
She climbed the stairs slowly, taking each step slowly, her mind racing with what needed to be done. When she reached the second floor, she moved quietly down the hallway, careful not to wake up Lena. She was trying her best not to involve her granddaughter in anything unnecessary, no...she wasn't ready, in fact, she was far from ready to deal with something like this.
She turned her attention towards the room where Oreon and the sisters slept. With another exhale, she knelt and placed her hand on the wooden floor. "These damn protective spells take a lot out of an old woman like me." She breathed with a small smirk on her face.
The protective spell spread beneath the floorboards like roots seeking water, weaving through the wooden beams and settling into place with a soft hum that only those attuned to magic could perceive.
Meara felt the drain immediately, but she held her focus until the ward was complete.
"There..." She whispered, pulling her hand back and flexing her stiff fingers. "That should keep them at bay for now. At least for tonight."
She remained kneeling for a moment longer, catching her breath, before slowly pushing herself to her feet with a quiet groan. Her knees protested, and her back ached something fierce, but she couldn't afford to show weakness.
Meara glanced towards Oreon's room once again, a sigh escaping her lips as the same smile remained on her face. "Foolish boy." She muttered under her breath as she walked to the room next to Lena's. "Always bringing trouble to my doorstep."
She glanced around a moment longer, confirming that the tavern was fully secured, before going towards her room. "Get some rest, everyone, we're all going to need it for what's to come." She whispered to herself as she closed her own door behind her, taking her own advice to rest while she could.
Dawn breaks as light crept in through the window that was covered in Oreon's room. A pair of sapphire eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the morning light that filtered through the shutters. For a moment, she simply lay there, disoriented...then awareness crept in. The warmth beside her. The steady rhythm of breathing that wasn't her own.
She turned her head ever so slightly and-- "Oh." Her cheek was practically pressed against Oreon's shoulder, her body having migrated towward him sometime during the night. One of her hands rested lightly on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took.
Heat rushed to her face immediately. "I...When did I..."She spoke quietly, silently alarmed by the positioned she found herself in. "Oh, by the light..."She lifted her head carefully, trying her best not to wake him, but the movement caused a strand of her pale blonde hair to fall across his face. Celestia froze, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched him stir slightly. With great deliberation, she extricated herself from the awkward situation, eventually managing to stand beside the bed. Her gaze then landed on her sister, who was in an equally compromising predicament.
Sylvanie lay sprawled across Oreon's other side, her violet hair fanned out like a dark waterfall across the pillow. One of her legs was draped over his, and her arm laid carelessly on his torso, almost like she was claiming him. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck.
"Of course..." Celestia whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead."Of course she would..." She shook her head with a slight smirk forming on her lips, knowing that she got out of being seen in such a sight, but catching her sister like this was both refreshing to her and something that would become a weapon of teasing later.
With that in mind, she moves to the window, parting the curtain just enough to peer outside. The small town looked peaceful in the early morning light as the people of the town made their way out to start 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 over Oreon's, slightly cuddled up next to him. The awkward pause lasted for a few seconds.
"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.
Oreon's eyes bulged as Sylvanie's hands wrapped around his throat, his face turning an alarming shade of red. "I—didn't—do—anything! You crazy elf!" He managed to choke out between gasps, his hands flailing uselessly as he tried to pry her fingers loose.
"Lair!" Sylvanie hissed, though there was a telltale flush creeping up her neck that betrayed her embarrassment. "You clearly took advantage of my vulnerable state!"
"Took advantage!" Oreon gasped. "Gah!—You were the one who told me to get in the bed in the first place—Gah! I was trying to sleep on the window cushion!"
Celestia's gentle laugh fills the room as she watches the comical scene unfold before her, also hiding her own transgressions since she was the first to wake. "Perhaps we should consider separate sleeping arrangements in the future," She suggested, with a slight hint of amusement in her eyes. "Though I must say, you both looked rather peaceful until just moments ago."
Sylvanie's eyes snapped toward her sister, her grip on Oreon's throat loosening just enough for him to gasp for a breath of air. "Peaceful?" She repeated, her voice dripping with indignation. "Sister, I was...I was clearly under some spell! A spell cast by this human! There's no other explanation for why I would..."
"Use me like a body pillow." Oreon got in a slight smirk before Sylvanie's grip tightened around his throat.
"I rather thought she looked like a cat finding its favorite spot," Celestia said, placing her hand slightly over her mouth to hide her smile.
"A cat!" Sylvanie quickly pointed an accusatory finger at her sister. "Don't you dare compare me to some household feline, Celestia! And you..." She directed her gaze back to Oreon. "I was merely conserving energy. Don't mistake necessity for comfort, human." She declared her words towards Oreon.
Oreon fights against her grasp dramatically, shooting Sylvanie a look that undoubtedly said he didn't believe her. "Your 'conservation of energy' means holding on to me like an oversized stuffed bear. "He retorted. "And I'm fairly certain princesses aren't supposed to snore like dwarven miners after a night of heavy drinking."
Outrage filled Sylvanie's eyes as she increased her grip on Oreon.
"I do NOT snore!" she hissed, her dignity wounded. "Tell him, sister! Tell this insufferable human that I sleep with the grace of a summer breeze!"
Celestia's composure finally cracked, and she let out a soft, melodic laugh that filled the room. "Well..." She began carefully. "I wouldn't say it was quite like a dwarven miner, but..." She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Perhaps more like...a small dragon purring in his sleep?"
"CELESTIA!" Sylvaine shrieked, her face now matching the crimson of her eyes. Her grip on Oreon's throat loosened a bit as she whipped around to face her sister. "You're supposed to be on MY side!"
Oreon took advantage of the momentary distraction, sucking in a desperate lungful of air. "A dragon...That's perfect, Gah!" Sylvanie's grip tightened again.
"Silence, human." Sylvanie slightly glanced back at him. "You probably put my leg there while I was defenseless in my sleep. Who knows what kind of impure thoughts run through that human mind of yours." She returned, turning attention to him.
Oreon's face flushed—though whether from lack of oxygen or indignation was hard to tell. "Impure thoughts?! You're the one who—Gah! Too strong, too strong." He breathed. "Ok, ok...I give! I give!' Oreon tapped out as Sylvanie finally released her grip, but still remained on top of him as she leaned back, sitting upright.
A mix of triumph and embarrassment showed on Sylvanie's face as she crossed her arms and looked down at Oreon. "Good, at least you know when you're beaten." She declared, though the position she'd assumed—straddling his waist while sitting upright—seemed to have escaped her notice entirely.
"Yes, since clearly I was the aggressor here," He mutters sarcastically. "Apparently, I orchestrated the whole situation while completely unconscious." He retorts, his voice a bit raspy from being choked. "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."
Sylvanie narrows her eyes at him. "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 or something." She hissed, but there was no actual intent behind it. "Humans have no sense of personal space."
"First of all, you're an elf, not a witch," Oreon responded.
Sylvanie's eyes flashed dangerously as she spun back toward him. "I'll have you know dark elves are perfectly capable of transformation curses. "She jabbed a finger at his chest. "Don't. Test. Me, human."
Celestia moved between them, placing a calming hand on her sister's shoulder. "Perhaps we should focus on more pressing matters than who slept where. Besides, we are guests here, after all, and I believe I smell breakfast." She said diplomatically, changing the subject. "And after yesterday's fiasco, I suspect we could all use the nourishment."
"Fine," The dark elf concedes, shooting one last warning glance at Oreon. "But he walks in front of me from now on."
Oreon pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his throat with an exaggerated wince. "Walk in front of you? So, you can stab me in the back the moment I say something you don't like?" He shot back. "Nah, I think I'll take my chances walking beside you, thanks."
"Beside me?" Sylvanie scoffed, flipping her violet hair over her shoulder. "As if I'd allow a human to walk as my equal. You should be grateful I'm not making you crawl."
Oreon looks over at Celestia. "How do you deal with this?" Oreon pointed at Sylvanie.
Celestia's expression softened, a knowing smile forming on her features. "Years of practice," She said with a gentle sigh. "And a great deal of patience." Despite the exasperation in her tone, she gave her sister an affectionate glance. "Sylvanie has always been...spirited. Even as children. She would challenge our tutors, question our mother's decisions, and—"
"I was keeping you from becoming a doormat," Sylvanie interjected, crossing her arms defensively. "Someone had to make sure you didn't shower everyone with your 'mercy" She air quoted.
"Right? And I'm sure you being so direct all the time made life a hell of a lot easier." Oreon added, heading towards the door.
"Watch it, human," Sylvanie responded, stretching once more. "Don't think I won't kill you just because I haven't yet." She added, making her way to the door.
"Aww, and after I was such a good boy pillow to you," Oreon remarked, causing Celestia to giggle.
Sylvanie returned to an embarrassing shade of red as she whirled on him, her hand shooting out to grab his collar. "You--!" She sputtered, words failing her for a moment. "I swear by the gods, human, if you ever mention that again—"
"What? That you drool a little too?" Oreon added with a grin, clearly enjoying pressing her buttons.
"I did NOT drool!" Sylvanie shrieked, her grip tightening on his collar as she yanked him closer. "Take it back right now or I'll..."
Celestia stepped forward, gently placing her hand on her sister's arm. "Sylvanie...perhaps we should save the violence for after breakfast?" She suggested. "Besides, we need to figure out what were going to do from this point forward, so please spare the nice human. Would you?"
Though her glare persisted, Sylvanie's grip on him lessened somewhat. "Nice human?" She repeated incredulously, releasing Oreon's collar with a small shove. "Sister, you're far too generous with your compliments." She huffed, smoothing down her disheveled clothing. "But fine...I suppose I can postpone his inevitable demise until after we've eaten."
Oreon stumbled back a step, adjusting his collar with a smirk that he couldn't quite suppress. "Your restraint is truly admirable, your highness." He said dryly. "I'll try not to die of shock from such unexpected mercy."
"Keep talking, and I'll change my mind," Sylvanie warned as Celestia opened the door, gesturing for them to follow.
"Come now, both of you. That's more than enough for one morning." She spoke as she glanced over at Oreon. "And Oreon...Please don't provoke Sylvanie at the table. I would like to enjoy a peaceful meal." Celestia added.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Oreon replied innocently.
The trio made their way downstairs. The light shone through the windows that Meara had drawn back from the previous night. Next, the smell of fresh breakfast covered the room as Meara, who didn't look like she had an ordeal the night prior, stood in the kitchen preparing a full-course meal for the trio. Lena, who appeared to be none the wiser of the previous events, helped set the table before she looked up and saw the three making their way downstairs.
"Well, it's about time you got up," Lena said, smiling as her eyes landed on Oreon, then glanced over at the two elves. "I hope he didn't keep you guys up last night." She added, setting a plate down on the table.
Sylvanie's lips curled into a wicked smile as she descended the last few steps. "Oh, he kept us very occupied," She purred, her tone deliberately suggestive. "Wouldn't leave us alone for even a moment."
Celestia's face immediately flushed a delicate pink. "Sylvanie!" She hissed under her breath, shooting her sister a warning look that went completely ignored.
"Occupied...What do you—" Lena was about to question, but then her face went red as she turned her head to Oreon. "What...Did...You...Do?" She questioned him dangerously.
Oreon's eyes widened in panic as he held up both hands defensively. "Nothing! I didn't do anything!" He protested, his voice cracking slightly. "I swear on my life—She's lying!"
"Hmm, is that so?" Sylvanie continued, examining her nails with feigned disinterest. "Because I distinctly remember waking up with your body pressed against mine..." She stopped there, leaving the sentence to hang in the air on purpose.
"You were the one who--!" Oreon starte , then caught himself, realizing how that sounded. "Wait, no, that's not--It's not what it sounds like!"
Lena's eyes narrowed dangerously, her grip tightening on the plate she was holding. "Oreon..." Her voice had dropped to a low, threatening tone. "You have exactly three seconds too explain before I--"
"I hope everyone behaved themselves under my roof." Meara stepped out from the kitchen, rubbing her hands on her apron. Meara's eyes swept over the group, her eyes assessing them for a moment. "Though judging by the noise I heard this morning..." she paused, raising an eyebrow at Sylvanie. "I suspect 'behaving' might be a generous term."
She closed her eyes briefly. "However, now is not the time for games. I need you all to sit and eat, you're going to need it for the days to come."
The group took notice of Meara's tone as the they all looked at each other and then back at Meara, who went back into the kitchen and came back with a full platter of food on the table.
The group settled around the table, the playful tension from moments before dissolving into something heavier. Oreon pulled out a chair, sitting down as instructed. Celestia gracefully took her seat beside him, while Sylvanie claimed the spot across, her eyes never leaving Meara's face.
Lena hovered near the table, her earlier expression replaced with a bit of concern. "Grandmother, that was a bit ominous. What's going on? Did something happen?" Lena asked.
"Yeah, Meara, what gives?" Oreon added.
Meara set the last dish down on the table—a steaming pot of herbed porridge alongside freshly baked bread, cured meats, and a bowl of preserved fruits. She didn't sit immediately. Instead, she stood at the head of the table, her hands resting on the back of her chair as her gaze moved slowly across each of them.
"Eat first," she said firmly. "I won't have this conversation on an empty stomach."
Everyone looked around at each other questionably, as Oreon turned his gaze back to Meara and nodded his head, but before he could pick up his utensil, the door splintered inward with a deafening crack. Sending shards of wood skittering across the floor. Grog stumbled through first, his massive frame breathing heavily. His face—usually twisted with arrogance—was pale, slick with sweat. Behind him, four of his lackeys piled in, tripping over each other in their desperation to get inside.
"Close it! Close the damn door!" Grog barked, his voice cracking.
One of the men—a wiry fellow with a patchy beard—slammed what remained of the door shut, pressing his back against it as if that alone could hold back whatever pursued them.
Oreon was on his feet before he even realized he'd moved, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. "What the hell, Grog?!" He shouted. "You can't just—"
"You got some nerve showing your face here after that show you put on yesterday." Sylvanie was the next to her feet, along with the rest of the group.
Grog's wild eyes darted around the room, barely registering Sylvanie's words. His chest still going up and down as he struggled to catch his breath, one hand braced against his knee while the other rested on the wooden floor.
"Shut up! Just—Shut up, all of you!" He gasped out. "It's the Order! They're here! And Silas...They got Silas!" Grog screamed.
The words made the entire room go silent as every eye in the room raised.
Celestia's breath caught in her throat, her hand instinctively reaching for her sister's arm. Sylvanie had gone rigid, her crimson eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as her jaw tightened.
Oreon felt the blood drain from his face. "What do you mean they got Silas?" His voice came out harsher than intended, edged with something closer to panic. "What happened?"
Grog hesitated for a bit, but before he could speak, Oreon, to the surprise of everyone, grabbed Grog by the collar of his shirt. "Grog! What the hell happened?! Where is Silas now?!" Oreon questioned.
Grog's eyes—wide with fear—finally focused on Oreon's face. For once, there was no sneer, no mockery. Just raw terror.
"Damn fool." Sylvanie gritted her teeth as she was getting ready to go after Oreon, but that's when Grog spoke.
"What about Gretta? They have her and half the town pinned down at the docks?"
Sylvanie froze mid-step, her eyes flickering between the broken doorway and Grog's trembling form. Her jaw clenched so tight she could feel her teeth grinding.
"Damn it all..." She hissed through her teeth.
Celestia moved to her sister's side, her sapphire eyes clouded with worry. "We need to split up," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
"Sylvanie—the docks. Your magic works best in chaos. I'll go after Oreon."
"Absolutely not!" Sylvanie whirled on her sister. "Don't be stupid, separating is the last thing we need to do. If they capture you, we're dead either way, and I'm letting that happen. Not again."
Celestia met her sister's fierce gaze without flinching. "Then what do you propose we do? Everyone in town will die if the Order has its way, and with Oreon alone, he'll—"
"We'll go!" Grog spoke up, cutting Celestia off, causing the group to turn their heads to him. "We'll go back up the runt." He pointed at himself.
Sylvanie's eyes narrowed as she studied Grog with suspicion. "You?" She scoffed, her lip curling. "Yesterday, you were ready to beat him senseless. Now you want to back him up?" She placed one hand on her hip. "Forgive me if I don't exactly believe you, but what's your angle?"
"Not to mention when he got back two nights ago, you were in his face the second he walked through the door with these two." Lena crossed her arms, slitting her eyes at Grog as well.
Grog's face twisted—not with his usual arrogance, but with something rawer. Shame, maybe. Or desperation.
"Look, I know what I did, alright?" He snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. His hands clenched at his sides. "But Silas...He's the one who brought me into this town, the only one to give a damn about any of us." His voice cracked slightly. "I ain't about to let him burn because I was too much of a coward to—"
One of his men—a stocky fellow with a crooked nose—stepped forward. "Grog's right. Silas saved my sister when she got the fever last winter. Didn't ask for anything in return." He swallowed hard. "We all owe him in our own way."
Meara, who had remained silent until now, moved from her spot near the kitchen. Her hands gripped the edge of the table as she regarded Grog with an unreadable expression.
She then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Debts and guilt make for poor allies," Meara said slowly before reopening her eyes. "But sometimes...they're all we have."
She released the table and straightened, her eyes moving too Celestia and Sylvanie. "The boy's already gone. Standing here arguing won't change that." Her gaze sharpened. "Grog—take your men. Follow Oreon to the square. Don't engage unless you have to. Your job is to get Silas out. Don't do anything rash."
Grog nodded jerkily, already moving toward the door. His men fell in behind him, their earlier terror replaced with determination.
'And Grog?" Meara's voice stopped him at the threshold. He turned, and for a moment, the old woman's expression softened—just barely. "Don't make me regret this."
Grog swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am." Then he was gone, his footsteps pounding down the street.
Sylvanie watched them go, her arms crossed tightly at her chest. "I still don't trust him."
"Neither do I," Celestia admitted quietly, her gaze lingering on the broken doorway. "But right now...trust isn't a luxury we have."
Meara turned to face the sisters, her expression hardening once more. "The docks. Gretta's there with the townspeople. If the Order has them cornered..." She didn't finish the thought. She didn't need to. "That's where they'll need you most. I'd hate to ask this of you two, but..."
"You don't need to ask." Celestia turned her gaze towards Meara. "You've shown us nothing but kindness, along with Gretta and Silas. We won't let either of them fall." She finished as she turned to look at her sister. "We'll make sure everyone is safe at the docks—"
"—Then make sure that idiot stays alive." Sylvanie finished as Celestia nodded her head, followed by Meara, who nodded slowly.
"Good, off you go then, but be careful. There's no telling what kind of tricks the Order has up their sleeves." She turned away for a moment before stopping. "And girls..." She paused, catching the attention of both Celestia and her sister. "As I'm sure you are already aware, humans aren't the only race that occupies the Order. You're going to face some uncomfortable truths." She glanced over her shoulder at the two elves. "Don't hesitate."
Meara's words weighed on the two as they both looked at each other for a moment. The memory of Rot being the first one to attack them once they had made it out of the fortress with Oreon. A corrupted dark elf with the powers of decay.
Sylvanie's expression hardened once again. "We know..." She spoke. "
"What will you do?" Celestia asked. "Surely, you would have to hide as well. You and Lena will be in—"
"Don't worry about us," Meara stated. "I have a few things to work out here; you two just run along and make sure the people in the docks are safe."
Celestia hesitated for a moment as Sylvanie grabbed her sister's wrist, tugging gently. "Celestia. We don't have time."
Celestia nodded slowly, but she kept her eyes on Meara. "Please...be careful." She said softly to Meara before allowing Sylvanie to pull her toward the door.
Once outside, Sylvanie's eyes scanned the streets. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary, or what she deemed ordinary, for only being in town for a couple of days. Celestia, standing next to her, narrowed her eyes as she found that nothing was out of place. But the two didn't waste time on words; they quickly turned left and bolted towards the docks, with speeds far superior to the average human.
Meanwhile, still standing in the tavern. Lena looked up at her Meara. "Grandmother, what are you planning?" She asked, no fear in her voice.
Meara only walked to the backroom, a pace in her step as she walked through the door. "If the Order is attacking the way I think they are, then we're not going to get out of this without some careful planning," Meara said as she walked towards a chest, gently tucked in the back behind a bunch of the tavern's junk that nobody would think twice about looking at.
"You don't mean—" Lena looked at her grandmother.
Opening the chest, Meara stuck her hand in, fiddling around for something before she turned her head back towards Lena.
"Lena, I need you to do something for me—"
Meanwhile, Oreon had finally made it to the square, racing towards Silas's shop. As he approached, he saw Silas lying on the ground in front of his shop, face up with one arm draped over his chest.
"Silas!" Oreon screamed, his legs burning as he skidded to a halt, dropping to his knees beside the old man. He quickly moved one arm behind Silas's head and gently sat him up a bit.
"Silas! Silas, can you hear me?!" His voice cracked.
The old shopkeeper's face was bruised, a thin trail of blood running from his lip. His breathing was shallow, ragged- but he was breathing. Oreon felt a wave of relief crash through him, though it was short-lived.
Silas's eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first before settling on Oreon's face. A weak, pained smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Boy..." He wheezed. "You shouldn't have...The Order." He tried to lift his arm but found that he couldn't.
"Shut up and save your strength, old man." Oreon continued to gently prop him up. "What happened? Who attacked you? Where's the order?"
Silas coughed a bit before settling back down. "Those Zealots came storming in, asking their stupid questions...I told them nothing." Silas responded. "However..." He coughed again. "Since I wouldn't talk, they decided to prove a point." He finished his sentence with another ragged cough.
"Damn it, Silas..." Oreon's eyes looked over him, checking to see if he had any injuries. Then something disturbed him. He looked around frantically—the square was eerily empty. Too empty. Where were the knights Grog mentioned? Where was the Order if they stormed the city?
A sudden sound of a footstep on the cobblestone made Oreon freeze while still supporting Silas.
"Well, well, well, runt..." Oreon heard Grog's voice and the snickers of his men as they drew their knives, sneering at him.
Oreon's blood ran cold as he slowly turned his head, still cradling Silas against his chest. Grog stood there—that familiar sneer back on his face, all traces of fear and desperation gone like they'd never existed.
"Grog..." Oreon's voice came out low and dangerous as he gently laid Silas down and stood up to face the group. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"What's it look like?" Grog twirled his short sword between his fingers, his men fanning out to surround them. "Making a deal. You of all people should have known that the Order would pay good coin for those knife-ears that you brought in." He smirked. "More than enough to get out of this backwater town and live in the capital, a no-brainer if you ask me."
Oreon's fist clenched at his sides, his knuckles going white. The betrayal stung—not because he'd trusted Grog, but because he'd been stupid enough to let his guard down. Even for a second.
"You...you sold them out..." Oreon's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with barely contained rage. "You sold everyone out. The entire town! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Grog shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Silas was just...collateral. Had to make it look convincing, didn't I?" He gestured lazily with his blade. "Besides, the old fool should've just answered their questions. Would've saved himself a beating and being chained up inside his shop."
Oreon's eyebrow lifted at Grog's final remark. "Chained up...inside his..." Behind Oreon, a groggy noise suddenly arose, and his eyes widened in shock. He slowly turned, only to see Silas's body shifting and morphing. It wasn't Silas anymore, but a slim, petite, feminine figure with pale gray skin and pointed ears, standing a little shorter than Oreon. Her long, gray hair cascaded down her back, and she was clad in the black robes of the Order. Then her ears, unmistakably Elven.
The figure stretched languidly, rolling her shoulders as if waking from a pleasant nap. "Mmm...That form was so cramped and stiff." She popped a few of her bones. "You humans age so terribly," She finished as she opened her eyes, they were red, the same as Sylvanie's but with a holy cross embedded in her pupils.
Oreon stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest. The woman--no, the elf--regarding him with an unsettling smile, her head tilting to the side observing him, no almost like she's savoring his reaction.
"Ah...there it is." She spoke calmly. "That look of betrayal. Confusion, probably has yet to understand what you just walked into." A chill went down Oreon's back as she laughed at him before bringing her gaze back down upon him. "You humans are always so guilble." She smirked, showing her pointy teeth a bit as Oreon looked at her, fear etched on his face with another one of the Order's high rank soldiers in front of him and Grog and his men hehind, trapping him from all sides.