That night, Eliar dreamed.
He found himself standing in a vast plain of pale mist. The ground beneath him wasn't stone or soil but something smooth and cold, faintly reflecting his shape like dull glass. The air was weightless, empty — so still it pressed against his chest when he tried to breathe.
Far away, lights flickered — soft, golden, and shifting, as if they were stars drifting too close to the earth. He turned toward them, but every step he took made the ground ripple, like walking on a quiet pond.
There were silhouettes moving within the haze — people, perhaps — though their forms bent strangely, as if the air itself was bending them. A faint hum rose around him, deep and trembling, growing louder until it almost sounded like distant voices.
He couldn't make out the words. Only fragments. Only echoes.
Then, through the blur, he saw a faint shape — tall, indistinct, familiar in a way that tightened his chest. A man standing still, looking toward him.
Eliar took a step closer.
"Father?" he called softly.
The figure didn't move, but the hum stilled, and in the silence, a single whisper slipped through the fog — not clear, but heavy with something between warning and sorrow.
Before he could reach him, a burst of pale light surged through the mist, swallowing the plain whole.
Eliar woke with a jolt.
His breath came fast, chest rising and falling as morning light crept across the wooden floor. The faint cry of gulls drifted from the harbor, the smell of the sea breeze seeping through the open window. For a moment, the dream still clung to him like damp cloth — the sound, the silence, that fleeting voice.
He pressed his hand to his face. "What was that place…?" he murmured.
Before he could think more, his mother's voice called from outside his room.
"Eliar! Are you awake? Coren's waiting for you!"
He blinked, startled by how quickly the world returned to normal.
"Already?" he called back.
"Yes! Don't make him wait — he says you promised to start early!" she said, half-laughing, half-scolding.
Eliar sat quietly for a moment longer, staring out the window at the morning mist rolling over Greyhaven's rooftops. The dream tugged faintly at the back of his thoughts, but he shook it off.
"Just a dream," he muttered. "Nothing more."
He rose, dressed, and stepped outside, where the scent of fresh bread and smoke already filled the streets. The hum of life returned, washing away the remnants of the unknown world he had seen — or thought he had.
Excellent — here's the enriched continuation, keeping the tone grounded, lively, and immersive while keeping Eliar's slight grogginess and Coren's teasing charm intact.
Eliar stepped out into the pale light of morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The air was brisk, still damp from the early fog that rolled off the western cliffs. He tugged at his half-buttoned shirt and tried to stifle a yawn.
At the corner of the street, Coren was already waiting — leaning against a post, arms crossed, that mischievous grin plastered across his face.
"You look half-alive," Coren said, pushing off the post. "Did you wrestle with your blanket all night or just forget how to sleep?"
Eliar gave a tired glance, brushing a hand through his hair. "Don't start, Coren. Let's not waste time."
Coren chuckled and fell in step beside him as they started down the cobbled path. "Waste time? That's rich, coming from the man who's never seen dawn without Aldrin's shouting."
Eliar smirked faintly. "At least I make it before noon now."
Greyhaven was alive with motion. The streets were lined with garlands of red and gold leaves; banners hung from balconies, fluttering in the sea breeze. Children darted between stalls that were only half-built, and the smell of roasted nuts and spiced bread drifted through the air. Shopkeepers called to one another, laughter echoing between the stone walls.
The Autumn Requiem Festival was nearly here — and the whole city seemed to hum with quiet excitement.
Coren gestured around, eyes gleaming. "See? The whole of Greyhaven shining up like a jewel. By tomorrow, even the Duke's men from the capital will be down here pretending to be common folk. You could at least try to enjoy it."
"I will," Eliar said, adjusting his jacket, "after I stop Aldrin from hammering my skull for being late again. I need to get to the forge first."
Coren groaned dramatically. "Again with that forge! What about the word you gave me yesterday? We were supposed to start our stall today."
Eliar gave him a sheepish grin. "And we will. I'll finish early and be back by the cathedral's third bell. The festival's tomorrow — we've got time."
Coren narrowed his eyes. "You said the same thing about meeting at the harbor last week."
"That was different," Eliar said quickly. "This time, I mean it."
Coren sighed and shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "Saints help this boy. One day he'll be late to his own funeral."
Eliar laughed under his breath and began walking faster. "If that happens, you can start without me.
Eliar made his way through the morning crowd, the chill in the air slowly giving way to the warmth of the rising sun. The streets of Greyhaven glimmered with color — streamers of bronze and crimson hung between the narrow stone buildings, and the faint echo of pipes and drums drifted from somewhere near the town square.
As he neared the Cathedral of Saint Almaris, its spires towering above the rooftops like ancient watchmen, a strange stillness passed through the air. For a heartbeat, the sounds of the city dimmed — the chatter, the laughter, even the distant music — fading into a hush so complete that Eliar paused mid-step.
Then he heard it.
A whisper. Soft, distant — as though carried on the wind from somewhere deep within the cathedral's shadow.
He turned his head slightly, frowning.
"What was that?"
But when he looked around, there was no one. Only the hum of the market returning to life, the rustle of leaves tumbling down the steps, and the toll of the cathedral bell echoing faintly above.
He exhaled, shaking his head. "Probably the wind," he muttered, and continued on his way.
By the time he reached the forge, the rhythmic pounding of hammers already filled the air. Heat radiated from the open hearth, and the scent of burnt coal and molten metal clung to everything like a second skin.
Master Aldrin stood by the anvil, sleeves rolled up, arms dusted with ash, his expression carved into its usual look of focus and mild irritation.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
Eliar winced, setting his bag down. "Only by a few minutes."
"Minutes make a difference when the orders are royal," Aldrin said, finally meeting his gaze. He nodded toward a rack of half-finished swords gleaming in the firelight. "Word came from the capital this morning — the Imperial Envoy from Caelvarn will be in Greyhaven tomorrow. They're expecting to see the new batch of blades during the festival."
Eliar's brow furrowed. "The Empire's men? Here?"
"Aye," Aldrin said, hammering another strike into a glowing blade. Sparks flared around his hands. "They're traveling across the continent for inspection before winter sets in. Greyhaven may be far from the capital, but the Emperor's soldiers still want their weapons perfect."
Eliar nodded, gripping a pair of tongs. "Then we'll make sure they are. Don't worry, Master — everything will be fine."
Aldrin let out a low grunt. "It's not the swords I worry about, boy. It's you."
Eliar laughed softly. "You wound me, Master."
"Good. Maybe it'll wake you up faster than the bell did." Aldrin gave a rare smirk before turning back to his work.
Hours passed in the familiar rhythm of steel and flame, until the afternoon light began to fade. The cathedral bells rang again — a deep, resonant tone rolling through the air. Eliar straightened, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Master," he said, setting his hammer aside, "me and Coren are setting up a stall for the festival. I should go help before dark."
Aldrin didn't look up, just waved a soot-blackened hand. "Then go. Make yourself useful for once — and try not to burn the city down while you're at it."
Eliar grinned, grabbing his coat. "No promises."
As he stepped out into the cooling dusk, the first lanterns of Greyhaven flickered to life. The distant laughter of children and the hum of music from the square drifted through the streets — yet beneath it all, faintly, he thought he heard again that same whisper from earlier… but only for a moment.
The streets of Greyhaven had begun to glow with the soft orange of lanterns and the shimmer of candlelight through frosted glass. The air carried the mingled scents of roasted chestnuts, sea salt, and autumn spice, drifting from open stalls and bakeries. The town was alive in a way that only happened before the festival — like every corner held a quiet secret of excitement.
Eliar found Coren near the western square, sleeves rolled and hair a mess, trying to balance a wooden board atop two crates.
"Took you long enough," Coren said without looking up. "I was about to start without you."
Eliar dropped a small sack of nails onto the table with a dull thud. "Then you'd have ended up selling air, knowing your sense of craft."
Coren straightened, smirking. "Air sells well to nobles, I've heard."
They shared a brief laugh before falling into work. Together, they set up the stall — a modest stand draped with linen dyed in faded blue and bronze. Around them, other vendors were doing the same: cobblers setting their wares, spice traders from the southern ports unpacking sacks of golden dust, and children running between carts carrying lanterns shaped like leaves.
From the cathedral, the last rays of daylight caught the tall spires, turning them into streaks of fire against the darkening sky. Bells tolled softly, their tone deep and calm.
Coren stood back, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Not bad for a pair of rookies," he said. "By tomorrow morning, this place will be packed. Even the soldiers from Caelvarn will be walking these streets."
Eliar nodded absently, his eyes on the lanterns swaying in the breeze. "Feels strange, doesn't it? The whole city alive like this… it almost feels like it's waiting for something."
Coren chuckled. "It's waiting for profit, my friend. Nothing strange about that."
Eliar gave a faint smile. "Right."
They worked until the last light faded and the square filled with soft music from a nearby tavern. People moved about, laughter spilling through the cool air. Coren leaned on the counter of their half-finished stall.
"So," he said, "you sure you'll wake up before dawn this time? We open early."
Eliar smirked. "Don't mock me, Coren. I'll be here before the bells ring."
Coren grinned. "If not, I'll sell your boots to the first noble that passes by."
Eliar laughed and began gathering his things. "Then you'll owe me half the profit."
The two exchanged a quick nod before parting ways — Coren heading toward the docks, and Eliar back through the lantern-lit streets toward home. The city's hum had softened now, replaced by the hush of nightfall and the quiet flutter of leaves carried on the wind.
Somewhere far behind him, the cathedral bells rang once more — a slow, solemn sound. Eliar paused, glancing back for just a moment. The faint echo lingered in his chest like a whisper he couldn't quite remember.
Then he turned away, walking home beneath the golden glow of Greyhaven's lamps.
Eliar turned toward home, his boots scuffing softly against the cobblestones. The air had grown cooler now — the kind of chill that slipped under the collar and made lantern flames flicker. The crowd had thinned, leaving only a few stragglers hurrying home or finishing their preparations for the festival.
As he passed a narrow lane near the cathedral gardens, a familiar scent caught him — fresh lilac and rosemary, a perfume that tugged faintly at memory. He stopped and glanced toward a small flower stall tucked between two buildings.
An older woman stood there, arranging bouquets with hands that trembled slightly from age but moved with care. Her gray hair was braided neatly, and the folds of her shawl were dusted with petals. When she looked up, her face brightened with recognition.
"Eliar Veyne?" she said, her voice gentle but surprised. "Saints above, I almost didn't recognize you. You've grown."
Eliar smiled and stepped closer. "Ms. Callen. It's been a long time."
"It has," she said warmly. "The last time I saw you, you were barely up to this counter, tugging at your father's coat asking for sweets." She laughed softly, then paused, her gaze softening. "And now look at you — a fine young man. Working at Aldrin's forge, isn't that right?"
Eliar nodded. "Aye. He keeps me busy enough to forget what sleep feels like."
She chuckled, the sound light and fond. "That sounds like Aldrin, all right. You're just like your father — he could never sit still either."
Her words drew a quiet stillness between them. The air felt heavier somehow, the laughter from the distant square fading beneath the soft rustle of leaves.
Ms. Callen hesitated, then asked gently, "Still no news… about Leroy?"
Eliar looked down at the cobblestones, his voice steady but low. "No. Nothing."
She sighed, her hands folding before her. "He was a good man. One of the kindest I ever knew. The world's lesser for losing him."
He forced a small smile. "Thank you. He'd have liked to hear that."
They stood in silence for a moment as the wind stirred through the flowers, carrying the faint scent of roses and rain.
"Well," she said finally, straightening a vase of autumn lilies, "tomorrow's a big day. The festival should bring a little light to everyone — even those we miss."
Eliar nodded. "I'll drink to that."
"Then good luck tomorrow, dear. And get some rest. You look as though you've been chasing shadows."
He smiled faintly at that and turned to leave. But just as he stepped away from the stall, he froze.
A faint sound brushed against his ear — a whisper, softer than breath, threading through the rustle of flowers. It was the same tone he had heard that morning, faint but distinct.
He turned sharply, scanning the street. "Did you hear that?"
Ms. Callen blinked. "Hear what, dear?"
"That… voice," he said, his brow furrowed. "It said something—"
She tilted her head, confused. "There's no one here but us, Eliar."
He hesitated, then shook his head. "Maybe I'm just tired. Never mind."
Ms. Callen gave him a worried look but said nothing more.
Eliar offered a quick smile, though his eyes lingered on the shadows pooling near the cathedral's edge. "Goodnight, Ms. Callen."
"Goodnight, lad. And take care."
He walked away, the whisper still echoing faintly in his thoughts — fading, but not gone.
By the time Eliar reached home, the moon had climbed high above Greyhaven's rooftops, its pale light silvering the cobblestones. The distant hum of the city had quieted to a soft murmur — only the occasional laughter from a tavern or the toll of a ship's bell down at the harbor broke the silence.
He slipped through the door quietly so as not to wake his mother and sister. The hearth still glowed faintly, casting gentle flickers across the room. For a moment, he just stood there, the warmth of the forge still clinging to his clothes, the chill of the night pressing against his back.
He climbed the narrow stairs to his small room and sat by the window. Outside, Greyhaven lay bathed in moonlight — lanterns guttering in the breeze, the spires of the cathedral rising dark and solemn against the stars.
He leaned his arms on the windowsill, eyes tracing the constellations his father once taught him. He could almost hear his voice again — calm, steady, and full of that quiet wonder only he possessed.
"Eliar," the memory whispered, "when you look at the stars, don't stop there. There's far greater than what you see."
Eliar's gaze softened, a faint ache tugging at his chest. He let the silence stretch, the whisper of the wind slipping through the shutters.
"Is that you, Father?" he murmured. "All those whispers… is that really you?"
Only the night answered — the soft creak of wood, the sigh of the breeze, and the quiet pulse of the city beyond.
Eliar closed his eyes, and for a moment, the world felt suspended — caught between memory and dream. Then, slowly, he lay back on his bed, the murmur of distant bells fading into the calm of sleep.
Outside, the stars burned bright over Greyhaven — ancient and silent witnesses to the boy who still listened for echoes of a voice long gone.