It feels… paused.
The party stands in the aftermath — still, shaken, the air thick with that sweet-rot scent. The vines no longer move, but they breathe, tiny contractions in the roots that tell you this forest is only sleeping.
A faint wind passes through, scattering gold dust from the burned petals like the ashes of a funeral pyre.
No one speaks at first.
The silence feels holy. And heavy.
Each of them is lost inside the echo of what they saw — that one, perfect moment that wasn’t real but felt real enough to ache.
Garruk stares at his hands. You can see him flexing them, remembering the warmth of his tribe’s fire on his palms.
Borin’s thumb runs unconsciously along the edge of his hammer, lips moving with a wordless prayer to names that will never answer again.
Arden’s light flickers faintly from within her pendant, her lips tight as if she’s afraid to even whisper.
Kaer’s face is unreadable. But his breathing is slow, too even — the kind of calm forged to cage pain.
Laz and Vex both sit cross-legged, no jokes for once, eyes distant. Pancakes curls up in Vex’s lap, purple fur streaked with red pollen, the tiny creature’s chest rising and falling.
Only Sereth moves.
She sits closest to the seed where Elaris placed it in a glass vial, the glow pulsing faintly like a heart trying to remember its rhythm.
Her eyes don’t leave it.
And then—
she says a name.
A single word, soft but sharp enough to cut through the stillness.
“Varsha.”
Every head turns.
Elaris looks up, brow furrowed. “Varsha?”
Sereth’s voice changes. No quip. No calm. Just iron.
“Varsha the Thorned.”
She still doesn’t look away from the seed. Her tone is venom. Controlled. Personal.
“She’s the Queen’s second Heart. Grief and despair made flesh.”
The seed throbs once — as if hearing its mistress’s name.
Garruk shifts, his voice low.
“This— this wasn’t even a real battle. Just her shadow.”
He looks down, jaw tight.
“She made me see happiness. My tribe alive again. My mother singing. I—”
He breaks off. His voice falters into something raw.
“It felt right.”
Sereth finally glances up — her expression unreadable but eyes burning.
“That’s what she does. She shows you peace. Comfort. The life you wanted most. You let your guard down. You rest.”
She looks back to the glowing seed.
“And when you’re still, when you breathe in, she twists it. She traps you. Drowns you in your own sorrow until you can’t tell grief from memory. Until you become part of her forest.”
As if to prove her words, the whispering starts again.
Not clear words — just muffled cries, voices of the dead carried on the wind. Pleas. Apologies. Endless sorrow.
Elaris moves to her side, kneels down beside her.
“Sereth…” he begins quietly, reaching out.
“What did you see?”
She doesn’t answer.
Her pupils are wide, glassy, reflecting the tiny pulse of the seed.
Whatever she saw— she’s still halfway there.
He sees it in the way her fingers tremble once before she stills them.
He stops asking.
After a long moment, she inhales, forces a breath, and her tone returns to command.
“That seed’s a piece of her. An extension of the grief she feeds on. If it’s here, she’s watching. Scouting us. Learning.”
Elaris glances toward the treeline. “How far can she reach?”
Sereth shakes her head.
“Farther than she should. The forest listens.”
Arden’s voice cuts through, quiet but urgent.
“Then are we safe here?”
Sereth finally looks up, eyes fierce again.
“No. Her presence lingers. We have to move. Now.”
That tone leaves no room for argument.
They start packing in silence, the only sound the creak of leather straps and the distant hum of those sorrowful whispers.
As Elaris turns to leave, he catches it — the smallest motion:
Sereth rubs the back of her hand across her cheek, a single tear erased before anyone else can see.
No one mentions it.
He just shifts closer as they walk, not touching, but close enough that their marks pulse in the same rhythm again.
Behind them, the ruined clearing begins to close — vines knitting over the ground, swallowing the burnt petals, the place healing wrong.
The whisper fades as they step beyond the trees.
But even when Thornmere’s lanterns appear on the horizon, the echoes follow.
“Stay.”
“Stay with us.”
“You’ll come back.”
Sereth glances once over her shoulder, jaw set.
“Not this time.”
And under her breath, barely audible to anyone but Elaris—
“Not again.”
Would you like to continue straight into the return to Thornmere and their report of what they found, or linger at their arrival for a short respite scene — maybe Kaer or Arden trying to pull Sereth out of her thoughts while the others rest?
Yes please
They rode through the edge of the forest until the trees began to thin and the road turned back to the familiar ruts that lead to Thornmere.
The lamps of the outer farms were already lit, the smell of smoke and bread and something close to normal life drifting out into the night air.
They left their horses at the Ember Tankard’s stables. Inside, the tavern was loud; music, dice, voices. It was almost jarring after the quiet of the woods.
Kaer was the first to break from the group, dropping his pack with a grunt. “I’ll get the rooms,” he said, his voice flat but steady.
Arden and Borin made for the bar, muttering about stew and beer. Garruk followed just to make sure they didn’t order everything on the menu.
That left Elaris and Sereth still standing in the doorway.
She hadn’t said much since they left the grove. Now, with the noise and light of the tavern all around, the silence she carried seemed heavier, like a shadow that refused to fall away.
Elaris leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed hers.
“You need a moment,” he said softly.
Sereth managed a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
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“Maybe just a drink.”
They found a quiet corner table near the back. For a while they didn’t speak at all; just listened to the clatter of cups and the occasional laugh from the bar. The sound of living.
Finally, Arden came over, setting two mugs down in front of them. “You both look like you’ve seen ghosts.”
Elaris lifted one brow. “You could say that.”
Arden hesitated before sitting opposite them. “She’ll come after us again, won’t she? Varsha.”
Sereth nodded. “She doesn’t stop. Grief doesn’t sleep.” Her fingers tapped against the wooden tabletop, restless. “We hurt her, but that was only her shadow.”
Arden’s gaze softened. “You’re carrying that weight alone again.”
Sereth looked away. “You saw what she showed me. What she shows everyone. Perfect peace. You think it’s real, and for a heartbeat you believe you could stay.” She shook her head. “It’s hard to fight something that makes you want it.”
Arden reached across, touching her hand briefly. “Then don’t fight it alone next time.”
The touch startled Sereth but she didn’t pull away. A faint, genuine smile flickered, fragile but there. “Next time,” she agreed.
Kaer returned with keys, dropping them on the table. “Two rooms. You’ll thank me later.”
Arden rose. “I’ll check on Borin before he drinks the town dry.”
She gave Sereth one last look — quiet reassurance — before heading back to the bar.
Kaer lingered a heartbeat longer, then inclined his head slightly. “You did good out there,” he said to Sereth, blunt but sincere. Then he was gone too.
For a while Elaris and Sereth simply sat, watching the firelight play across the walls. The laughter from the bar rolled over them, faint and distant, like a tide that didn’t quite reach the shore.
Elaris spoke first. “She won’t touch you again. I promise.”
Sereth looked at him then, eyes tired but fierce. “You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he said quietly. “But I will try.”
Her hand found his under the table; a small gesture, warm and grounding.
Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine and the faraway whisper of the woods. For the first time since the battle, it didn’t sound like voices — just the forest breathing.
They sat there until the fire burned low and the tavern emptied, the weight of grief easing, if only for the night.
The fire in the Ember Tankard burned low; its crackle was the only sound between them for a long, aching minute.
Sereth’s shoulders were drawn tight, her braid half-unraveled, the firelight catching the tear that slid from her cheek and fell into her drink. It hissed softly against the rim as if the cup itself flinched from her grief.
Across the bond — faint, private, tender — Elaris’s voice brushed her thoughts.
“Sereth. Talk to me, please.”
She didn’t look up right away. When she finally did, her eyes were hollow — not from lack of feeling, but from having too much.
Her answer came not aloud but in the same silent link that hummed between their hearts.
I saw myself back home… my friends, my mentor — the old rangers’ circle. Before all of this. We were training, hunting. Laughing. It was simple then. I wasn’t alone.
Her fingers tightened around the mug until the wood creaked.
I broke out before she could twist it.
Elaris leaned forward, barely breathing. “What happened, Sereth?”
She blinked, and the restraint snapped.
“She killed them all, Elaris.”
Her voice was barely human for a moment — hoarse, trembling. “She pinned me down and made me watch. One by one. Their faces… the fear in their eyes when they realised it wasn’t me who failed them — it was her.”
Her words came out ragged, tumbling faster now as if she could drown the memory by speaking it.
“I watched them scream, watched the vines drag them apart, watched them smile as they died because she made them believe they were happy!”
The cup shattered in her hand. Nobody in the tavern moved.
“And when it was over—”
Her voice broke to a whisper.
“—I was left with corpses. Pinned to the ground, surrounded by their laughter. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t help them.”
The pain in her words cut through the tavern like a drawn blade. Even the dice stopped rolling. The bard at the far end faltered mid-note.
Elaris’s throat tightened. He could feel her pain through the bond — sharp, choking. His own eyes wet.
“Sereth… you can’t blame yourself. You—”
She moved sharply, not away in fear, but in anger laced with grief.
“And you forgive yourself, do you?”
The room seemed to shrink around the words. Everyone felt the air change. Even the fire guttered lower.
Her voice cracked, heavy with hurt. “You talk about guilt, about redemption, but you still carry it like armor. So tell me — how’s that different from me?”
Elaris stood slowly, the calm in his voice a tremor away from breaking.
“I’m trying, Sereth. I am. But I can’t do it alone.”
She shook her head, tears streaming freely now, voice trembling but fierce.
“And what did she show you, huh? Elyra and you? Happy family, perfect life, no pain, no loss — Queen dead?”
He took one step toward her. His voice stayed level, but the words struck deep.
“Yes. She showed me Elyra. Grayhollow whole again. And you, Sereth. With me. With us.”
His voice softened, a crack of pure truth bleeding through.
“We were a family.”
The word hung between them — alive, raw, too real to take back.
Her eyes widened, then hardened through the tears. The silence after that word was so deep you could hear the tavern’s rafters creak.
Sereth looked at him one last time, her lips trembling, then grabbed her key and turned, boots striking hard against the wooden floor as she marched upstairs.
The sound of her door slamming shut echoed through the Ember Tankard like a drumbeat.
For a heartbeat, nobody breathed.
Elaris remained standing there, staring at the empty staircase, hand unconsciously clutching at his mark — it pulsed faintly, painfully. The connection between them throbbed with distance, grief, and something unspoken.
The others looked between each other, unsure.
Until Kaer — the least likely of them all — rose from his seat, expression unreadable.
He looked around, breaking the silence.
“Well,” he said flatly, “that was heavy.”
He turned toward Garruk. “Bet you couldn’t throw a cow across the main street.”
Garruk blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. Prove me wrong.”
The half-orc’s face twisted into something between confusion and challenge. “Oh, I can throw one.”
“Then go on.”
The tension shattered. Vex started laughing first — high-pitched, ridiculous. Laz joined in. Borin groaned, muttering something about broken windows. Within seconds, they were all piling toward the door, Garruk swearing he absolutely could while the twins were already placing bets.
One by one, the others left — noise, laughter, movement chasing away the heaviness.
Only Kaer lingered. He paused beside Elaris, his shadow stretching long in the dim firelight.
He didn’t say anything at first — just gave a small, silent nod.
A soldier’s gesture. Understanding. Space.
Then he followed the others out into the night.
And Elaris stood alone in the quiet tavern, the laughter fading into the distance.
His mark still burned faintly in his palm, echoing the rhythm of a heartbeat somewhere upstairs — distant, pained, but still connected.
He whispered, too softly for anyone but the bond to hear.
“I’m not giving up on us, Sereth.”
The mark pulsed once in reply — not forgiveness yet, but not rejection either.
Just… pain.
And love.
Too tangled to tell apart.
The room upstairs was dark save for the thin line of moonlight cutting across the floorboards. The noise from the tavern below had faded into the muffled hum of distant laughter — Garruk’s unmistakable booming voice somewhere outside, the twins shrieking encouragement, a cow protesting its involvement in whatever absurd contest had just begun.
But up here, there was only Sereth — pacing the small room like a caged storm.
Her hands were shaking. She didn’t even know what emotion they were shaking from anymore. Anger? Guilt? Fear? Love?
All of it, probably. All tangled together, each one clawing at the other until she couldn’t tell them apart.
Why did I say that? Why did I push him? Why now?
Her thoughts looped. Elaris’s words— family —echoed again and again until they hurt to think about.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, then stood again immediately, unable to stay still. Her eyes were raw from crying, her throat tight from holding in the next wave of it. She stared at the wall, at the chair, at her own hands — anything to keep from looking inward.
Elyra’s voice, so young and so sure, whispered in the back of her mind like an echo from a dream:
Please look after my dad. Make him happy.
The memory hit harder than the fight, harder than any arrow.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself — and failed.
With a strangled sound, she grabbed the nearest pillow, buried her face in it, and screamed.
It came out raw and broken — the sound of a woman trying to expel everything she’d never said aloud.
The scream left her trembling, gasping for breath.
When she lowered the pillow, she caught a flicker of motion by the window.
Something moved — reflected moonlight bending wrong, like water.
And then, for just a second, she saw it.
A face, glassy and smooth like sculpted crystal, framed in dark tendrils that shimmered crimson in the moonlight. Eyes that weren’t eyes, but burning fractures of red light staring back through her.
The Queen.
Her reflection smiled.
Sereth froze, breath caught halfway in her throat — and then it was gone.
Like a ripple across glass.
She stumbled to the window, flung it open.
Nothing.
Only the cool air and the ridiculous sight below: Garruk, very much alive, hauling a full-sized cow toward the main street while Laz and Vex shouted bets from a rooftop.
The sight cracked something loose in her chest. She laughed once — a breath that was half sob, half relief — and wiped at her face with the heel of her hand.
The laughter faded, replaced by the ache again, quieter this time but still there.
Then — tap.
A sound by the door.
She turned, heartbeat spiking, half-expecting the reflection to be there again.
But there was only a small folded note, slid neatly beneath the door.
Sereth hesitated before picking it up. The handwriting was unmistakable — neat, deliberate, Elaris’s hand.
She unfolded it carefully, the paper trembling in her grip.
I won’t use the link tonight.
You deserve your peace.
It’s not fair that I feel what you feel and you can’t shut me out when you need to.
I hurt you, and I need to learn to give you space.
I’m sorry.
For the memory. For the word I said too soon. For everything.
You’re in my heart.
— Elaris
She stared at the page until her tears blurred the ink.
A soft smile — small, sad, but real — curved her lips.
She pressed the note to her chest and whispered into the dark, voice cracking just once:
“You idiot. You don’t stop being in someone’s heart just because they need space.”
She set the note gently on the bedside table, beside her bow and the pendant she never took off, and crawled under the covers.
Her last thought before sleep was of him — standing downstairs, alone, trying to do the right thing.
And as she drifted, the link between them hummed faintly in the quiet — not words, not emotion, just presence.
Soft, constant, forgiving.