A hush folded back over the hall. Eli felt her jaw clench until it ached; Still, her voice did not waver.
"Then let the gods hear it anyway," she replied, low but steady. Technically Dreamsync might be the real god of this world.
"This is the only thing I truly wish for."
Also, in the back of her mind, her voice growled.
I swear, the moment I get out of this mess, I'm leaving the company a three-page review. Then I'm personally hunting down whatever bug-ridden excuse of a program handler let this glitch slip through. Haa....Side character, my ass.
The queen's voice cut through her simmering thoughts, her gaze sharp as flint.
"Your spirit is not wrong," she said evenly. "And your anger is justified."
She paused, then added, firmer now, "But your timing was ill-placed."
After few moments of silence, the priest's fingers trembled as he lowered them; he resumed his blessing, softer, threaded with a caution that made the words sound like a remedy.
"Let us offer restraint as well as strength," he intoned, his voice steadying the room.
After the brief ceremony, the Queen's exhaled in a deliberate, slow release that tempered the sharpness in her tone. Turning to Talia and the other assembled ladies, she straightened her posture, reclaiming the full authority of her presence.
"Ladies," she said, addressing the gathered nobles with poise, "you may return to the festival grounds. The remaining rites shall commence there."
And with that, the visit was over. Golden sandals shuffled across stone. Layers of silk and brocade swayed and sighed, their rustle carrying the scent of rare perfumes like mist as the royal ladies began to depart. Elinessa fell in step with them, her own skirts brushing faintly against the hem of her sandals. She kept silent at first, with her eyes lowered.
They were halfway back to the waiting carriage when she leaned closer to her maid.
"Talia…" she whispered, her voice was barely louder than the whisper of silk dresses as they descended the steps. "Did I… say something wrong?"
Talia, ever composed, gave her a side glance, unsure whether to answer as a maid or as a worried friend. In the end, she gave her nothing but a soft, unreadable look. Her silence was kind, the sort that wraps around you like a shawl. But Eli didn't need the words. After spending so much time in here with her, she'd learned to read Talia's face as easily as a book. She didn't have to say yes. Eli already knew.
Okay. So… maybe I did.
Still… that was kind of impressive. I mean, she glanced back toward the temple, if this is NPC behavior, the programming's getting scarily good. That priest looked ready to file a divine restraining order.
Eli pulled her cloak tighter around her sore, bruised arms as they step back into the light breeze. The air smells faintly of incense from the temple, but it's quickly got overpowered by the roasted sweets and spiced drinks from the stalls across the square.
I hope the glitch fixes itself soon. Because if this is the new standard for "immersive prayer sessions," then I am absolutely not emotionally equipped for whatever else this story plans on throwing at me.
***
Location: Outer encampment, Ilvaran.
The air shook as one of the newly captured Ilvaran war elephants let out a low, trumpeting groan. Chains rattled like distant thunder as the massive creature shifted, stamping a plate-sized foot into the churned sand. The creatures towering, ash-gray, scarred from battle were lined and bound in a massive paddock of reinforced stakes. Even in captivity, their eyes carried the glint of a soldier.
Commander Thoren stood with arms behind his back, his armor unfastened at the collar. His gaze followed the slow swing of one elephant's tusks.
"Thirty in total," Thoren observed, his voice measured as he studied the paddock.
"Half are wounded, but the rest… they'll learn. They'll take time to break… but once re-trained, we could bring down invincible city walls with a single charge."
Beside him, Dracye remained still as a carved obsidian. The dark-gray cloak draped over his shoulders was faintly stained at the hem with the dust of the march. His black hair, were tied neatly back, which revealed his sharp features and and the glint of the earring at his ear.
"Ilvaran too thought themselves as invincible," he murmured, his gaze locked on the massive beasts. His eyes narrowed slightly. "And yet, here they kneel."
As if on cue behind them, light footsteps approached over the sand. A servant appeared, his head bowed low.
"Your Majesty… Lady Seraphyne has arrived. She waits in the violet pavilion," the man reported.
For a heartbeat, Dracye's expression did not change. His eyes remained on the war elephants, as though he was weighing which was the more pressing matter. The creatures bound before him, or the woman awaiting his presence.
Thoren cast him a sidelong glance, clearly curious and trying to read him.
A few quiet minutes passed. Dracye's focus never wavered from the creatures.
At last, Thoren exhaled and took the initiative. Turning slightly toward the servant, he said in a low, commanding tone,
"Tell her ladyship that His Majesty is in an important meeting and will see her as soon as possible. Make certain she is well rested and that her comfort is seen to."
The servant bowed deeply and turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Dracye raised a hand, stopping him mid-motion. His gaze never left the paddock.
"I'll go." Dracye said at last.
***
The air inside the tent was faintly perfumed. Outside, the camp's noise was muffled to a distant hum. Near the center stood Lady Seraphyne. Tall and graceful in a flowing gown of deep blue velvet, the fabric catching the light like ripples on still water. Her long black hair, streaked subtly with fine silver, was drawn back into intricate braids in the old Viremyri fashion.
For a long moment, she and Dracye simply looked at one another, with a gulf of years, choices and unspoken words stretching between them.
No greetings were exchanged from either side; the silence between them was brittle, like thin glass under strain.
At last, Lady Seraphyne was the one to break it.
"How have you been?" she asked softly.
"Good," came the dry, clipped reply.
"It's been so long since you returned to Vortalis," she said at last, her voice carrying a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I wanted to see my child's face again. And ask when he plans to return home. Everyone is waiting."
Dracye's lips curved slightly, though the expression was too thin and deliberate to be called a smile.
"Nanny Ebrin always told me, never flee from a fight, no matter ...how familiar the enemy's face is."
That landed like frost. A flicker passed through Seraphyne's gaze, but she recovered quickly, moving toward a small side table. She busied herself with a tray, uncovering a dish of fresh fruit and a small amber-colored jar.
"I brought your favorites," she said softly. "And that spiced jam you used to steal by the spoonful. You shouldn't turn your back on the things you once loved."
Dracye's didn't even gazed towards the tray, he simply turned towards her fully.
"Turning your back on those you love…" he said quietly, "seems like I inherited that skill."
Silence again swelled between them, heavy and stifling. Her hand lingered on the dish as though she might still offer it, but she said nothing more.
At last, Dracye turned to leave. Just before stepping through the flap, he paused.
"You may wait if you want," he said without looking back. "Just don't expect the child you left to walk in. I came to win these lands, and I intend to."
"Ah also, when you return… pass a word to Nanny Ebrin. Tell her I think about her, often. And I miss her. " he added, quieter.
Seraphyne's lips parted slightly, with a trace of hope softening in her proud features.
"And me?" she asked quietly. "Do you not give me place in your your thoughts, Dracye?"
Slowly, he turned just enough for his profile to catch the dim sunlight. His voice was calm, almost gentle, but the bitterness beneath it was unmistakable.
"Yes. I do," he said, his voice almost gentle.
This brought almost childlike happiness across Lady Seraphyne's face. Softening the weariness carved by long distance she covered to meet her child. But it didn't last long.
"Every time I see an orphan crying in the streets, I think about you."
He paused, his eyes distant, the faintest curve of bitterness ghosting across his mouth.
"I often wonder how the child's parents died… or if they were simply left behind. What could drive someone to abandon their own blood?"
Then his gaze returned to her, sharp as a drawn blade.
"Perhaps their mothers, too, were bound to abandon them, just like you."
Then he stepped out into the camp, letting the tent flap fall shut behind him, cutting off the faint perfume.