Moons of Enesia

I. The Changing Tides

- Erevan -

In the world of Enesia, a celestial dance unfolds in the heavens once every three years, a phenomenon known as Moonreign. It’s a time when the twin moons, Lysa and Tyra, hold court in the sky, their silver glow suspended in time. Below, the tides cease their eternal chase, leaving the oceans eerily still. The world splits into two realms — one cloaked in an unending night, the other bathed in undying daylight, each lasting for an entire month.

The arrival of Moonreign is met with a palette of human emotion. In the lands graced by sunlight, the air thrums with the beat of drums and the melody of flutes, as people celebrate with festivals and fun. Elsewhere, under the watchful gaze of the moons, worshippers gather in circles, their chants rising into the night, seeking blessings or answers from the celestial beings above. Under the endless night, the cool breeze carries the faint aroma of sea salt and the murmurs of nocturnal creatures. Yet, not all embrace the moons’ reign; whispers of fear rustle through the darkened streets, and in hidden corners, the occultists’ incantations grow more fervent.

Amidst this tapestry of reverence and revelry, Erevan finds his own wonder not above, but within the walls of his home. He stands at the doorframe of their modest bedroom, his eyes drawn to the figure by the windowsill. Thaera, with her hair cascading like a waterfall of midnight silk, sits with her attention turned upwards, lost in the sky.

As Erevan gazes at Thaera, a twinge of unease coils in his stomach. Moonreign always symbolizes change, but this year feels different. The frozen moons remind him of things left unsaid, of conversations that circle back to the same point. Adoption — Thaera’s dream of giving a child a fresh start — is something he can’t fully embrace. Not because he doesn’t want it, but rather something inside him remains frozen. He doesn’t think he’d be a good father, but deep down, he knows that’s not the real reason for holding back. What if…?

A faint scent of lavender, carried by a breeze from the open window, pulls him back to the present. An involuntary sound of admiration escapes Erevan, louder than he intends, and Thaera turns, her eyes, orbs of silver themselves, meeting his.

“Why do I always find you staring at me?” she asks, a playful tilt to her voice.

Erevan’s grin is as bright as the moonlight. “It is probably the same reason I catch you staring at the moons. You are too good to be true.”

Their laughter mingles, a sound more harmonious than any festival music, and Thaera’s reply is soft yet certain, “Always the charmer, my love.”

Erevan’s smile lingers as he steps closer, but his eyes portray solemnity. “I only deal in the truth,” he begins, his voice gentle in the stillness of their chamber. “I should ask why I always find you gazing out this window, at this time, every three years… but I know the answer.”

Thaera’s expression softens. “And what is the answer?”

“It is because the moons were frozen as they are now, in exactly the same place when we first met. Forty-five years ago, fifteen cycles of Moonreign we have been through together, and every time you look up at those moons, it takes you back to better days,” Erevan says, painting the past with nostalgia.

As he speaks, Erevan’s mind wanders through time, recalling the energy of their youth. His skin has weathered, his hair greyed, yet to him, Thaera remains unchanged, her beauty immutable like the moons. A recurring doubt seizes him; does she see the same man she fell in love with all those years ago? He wonders if the years have changed him too much. These thoughts taunt him in quiet moments, a fear he never bothers to speak.

His thoughts are interrupted by Thaera’s voice. “I wouldn’t call them ‘better days’; they were just different. We had more energy, could run for longer, travel farther. We fought against evil, side by side, and won. Sometimes, I just wish we could go on another adventure.”

Erevan chuckles. “Every day is an adventure with you. Even if we’re just staring at the moons or sitting in silence.”

“You know what I mean,” Thaera says, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation.

The deepening creases at the corners of her eyes, etched by all the smiles they shared, make Erevan’s heart swell. He nods, his confidence unwavering as he holds her gaze. “It’s never too late for new adventures.” There’s a slight hesitation in his voice, the thoughts from their previous conversation still lingering. “That’s actually why I came to speak with you. We won’t be dining in Ironheist. In fact, I’ve cancelled all our plans for the next week.”

Thaera’s eyebrows arch, her lips parting slightly. “And why is that?”

Erevan bears a smile, pushing down his earlier nerves. “Because I have a surprise for you. One that I know you’ll love.” He leans in, whispering as if sharing a sacred secret. “It’ll be just like the old days, my love. The route I’ve planned may have one or two… hostilities along the way,” he says, the word ‘hostilities’ spoken with a dramatic touch that earns a laugh from Thaera.

“We’re getting back to the wilds, back to the road. So, we ought to bring our swords,” he concludes, his voice now a thrilling promise.

Thaera’s laughter fades into a smile. She places her hand on his cheek, her thumb tracing the familiar lines. “Where are we going, Erevan?”

“The destination is not as important as the journey,” Erevan replies, his hand charting the line of her jaw tenderly. “But I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

As they stand there, the world outside continues its pageantry, but for Erevan, the sight of the frozen moons tightens his chest. Their unwavering light mirrors his own hesitance, so constant and cold. He wants to be steady for Thaera, but something inside him feels as immovable as those celestial bodies.

“I’d better start packing,” she declares, brimming with delight. “But tell me, how long will this adventure last?”

Erevan’s smile broadens, and he can’t quell the excitement bubbling up inside. “No longer than five days,” he assures her. “As I mentioned, pack your sword, and clothes you won’t mind getting dirty.” His eyes alight with mischief, and he leans closer, lowering his voice. “Oh, and perhaps some lace?” He offers a cheeky smirk, the suggestion clear in his tone.

Thaera’s cheeks flush a soft pink. She raises an eyebrow, a playful quip ready on her lips. “Red or black?” she asks, almost like a challenge.

Erevan chuckles, turning away with his hands covering his eyes, walking backward as he replies, “Surprise me.” Their shared mirth fills the space between them. Yet, beneath his confident facade, an invasive thought creeps in, questioning his ability to provide the excitement and thrill that Thaera longs for. The longing to recapture the magic of their youth wars with the fear of failing her.

As Erevan steps out into the cool night, a sudden chill brushes against his skin. The streets are unusually quiet, the usual buzz of Ironheist dampened under the eerie stillness of Moonreign. Erevan’s thoughts shift, lingering on Thaera’s hopeful face, the unspoken words between them, the old tales about the darker side of Moonreign rising to the surface. He shrugs off the feeling, but not entirely. Instead, he focuses on the days to come, of laughter and love, and the wild, untamed beauty of the road less travelled. He vows to keep the spirit of adventure alive, for as long as the moons shine down upon them.

II. Echoes in the Crag

- Thaera -

Thaera and Erevan set off on their journey, but the dawn brings no light to the bustling streets of Ironheist. The capital city comes alive with the clamour of commerce and the whispers of conmen, a legacy of both prosperity and corruption. As they venture through the throngs of people, Thaera can’t help but feel a sense of freedom. The plumes of smoke and the discord of the city fade into the background. She muses silently that this departure, this adventure, should have come many years earlier.

They ride side by side, each atop a horse they have hired from the stables skirting the city. The route they choose is not for the faint-hearted — the Crag, a rocky canyon known to shave days off a journey, and for the perils it harbours.

“It’s been ages since we’ve been here,” Thaera remarks, focusing on the narrowing trail ahead.

Erevan, with a wry twist of his lips, responds, “If memory serves, the last time was when we rode to visit your parents in Skyvale.” He pulls a face, one that humorously conveys his lack of enthusiasm for that particular memory.

“Behave, Erevan. They are your parents too.” She pauses, a playful glint in her eye. “Though I confess, yours are less… difficult.”

Erevan grins, then looks towards the horizon, where the Crag looms like a slumbering giant against the black sky. The landscape around them grows harsher, colder, filled with the scent of damp earth and the distant call of unseen creatures. Shadows lengthen across the path, stretching like dark fingers as the moons dip.

As they ride, Thaera’s thoughts drift to her childhood in Skyvale, to standing on the balcony of her family’s mansion, overlooking the city. Her father’s stern voice echoes in her mind, “You are of noble blood, Thaera. Never forget that your place is above, not among the common folk.”

She felt trapped back then, a bird in a gilded cage. The sky always seemed closer, more attainable than the freedom she longed for. It wasn’t until she met Erevan, a warrior from the lower realms, that she tasted real liberty. Together, they defied expectations, their love a rebellion against the societal norms.

“I used to watch the city lights from up there,” Thaera says softly, pointing towards the floating city. “I found them beautiful, but they hid so much ugliness.”

Erevan nods. “It’s a different kind of war up there. One fought with power and influence instead of swords and shields.”

Thaera’s thoughts drift again. The city, a marvel of opulence and arrogance, floats serenely above Kardanhold, its spires glinting in the sun. She recalls her parents’ stifling expectations, their every word steeped in highborn traditions, unable to grasp her yearning for a life beyond the city’s borders.

Erevan leans closer, as if sensing her inner turmoil. “I can see those wheels turning. What is on your mind?”

Thaera sighs, lingering on the distant city. “The Crag always dredges up the past. I can’t understand why Skyvale’s elite, including my parents, cling so tightly to their old prejudices.”

“Peace is often built on shaky ground,” Erevan replies, his eyes holding a sombre light. “It didn’t come about mutually, but out of sheer necessity. The impoverished couldn’t sustain their fight, and the wealthy couldn’t bear to see their coffers depleted.”

A frown mars Thaera’s features. “I fear the truce is nothing but a veneer. The aristocrats of Skyvale still gaze down upon us all, literally and figuratively.”

“Remember, the war began over half a century ago,” Erevan reminds her, his hand finding hers. “To our parents, it was a just cause. But don’t worry, something good did come from it.”

His words draw a smile from Thaera. “Yes, the bloodshed was worth it, if only because it led me to you. I’m sure the dead would agree.”

Their laughter rings out, a fleeting moment of joy in the shadow of the Crag. Yet as their laughter subsides, another follows — a sinister echo that neither of them owns. The sound is distorted, like a voice carried on the gales, twisted and stretched.

As they navigate the narrowing trail, a sudden chill runs down Thaera’s spine. The air thickens, and an unnatural silence settles around them. She glances at Erevan, who has gone uncharacteristically still, scanning the jagged rocks.

“Something’s not right,” he whispers, signalling for her to halt.

She obeys, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her sword. Erevan dismounts quietly, his movements tense and carefully placed. “Stay here.”

Thaera’s heart hammers in her chest, her breaths shallow and quick. She watches Erevan, tracing his every move, her mind racing with possibilities. What unseen threat lurks within the Crag?

A voice, uncannily like Thaera’s own, echoes through the canyon, “Do you ever wonder why I look at you that way?”

Erevan spins, his eyes locking onto hers in confusion. “Thaera?”

She shakes her head vehemently. “That wasn’t me.”

Another voice follows, this time mimicking Erevan’s deeper tones, “Sometimes, I feel like you’re not even here.” Confusion clouds their features, a dawning realization setting in. “That’s not my voice,” Erevan mutters, his eyes narrowing. “It’s using us against each other.”

Thaera’s mind whirls, and a flitting thought creeps in. Has her focus on her art made her neglect her other duties? No, she rebukes herself. Now is not the time for such thoughts.

“Thaera, your sword,” Erevan’s real voice breaks through, steady and reassuring.

She draws her blade, its weight grounding her.

“It’s an Echo,” he explains, eyes scanning the shadows. “A creature of fear and doubt. We need to stay focused.”

Thaera’s grip tightens on her sword, the metal cool and reassuring. “The Echo in the Crag?” she murmurs in disbelief. “But they don’t dwell here...”

Erevan’s eyes darts to the shadows, his warrior’s instincts on high alert. “They’re not supposed to,” he agrees, “but the Echo cares not for boundaries.”

The Echo’s voice, a vile parody of Thaera’s, slithers through their conversation. “You should’ve picked a partner that wouldn’t die so soon compared to you.” The words cut deeper than any blade, and Erevan’s grip on his sword tightens, a voiceless vow to prove his strength.

Thaera shudders as another voice, Erevan’s in twisted form, taunts, “You’ve abandoned your noble duties, Thaera. You’re a disappointment to your lineage.” Her heart clenches, but she steels herself against the lies.

The Echo’s cruel game intensifies, copying Thaera’s voice to prey on Erevan’s fears. “You’re not the warrior you once were, Erevan. Your sword arm grows weaker with each passing day.”

Erevan’s expression is one of stoicism, but Thaera can see the pain flare in his eyes. Her voice, stolen by the Echo, reaches out to him again. “You fear I will be on my own, or worse, find another man and move on after your death without giving you a second thought.”

The Echo doesn’t relent, now using Erevan’s voice to strike at Thaera’s passion. “Your art will never be revered. Your life’s work belongs in the gutter. You’ve lost touch with your friends, Thaera. They no longer seek your company.”

The final blow comes harshly, with Thaera’s voice cruelly telling Erevan, “You are worthless because you could not give me the family I always wanted.”

The Echo’s malice aims to shatter Erevan’s spirit, but he stands resolute. “We cannot beat this creature,” he says firmly. “It’s something no one has ever seen or been able to find. We must flee.”

Thaera nods, her trust in Erevan unshaken. Together, they mount their horses, the animals sensing their urgency. “We need to move, now!”

“Right behind you,” Thaera replies. She spurs her horse into a gallop, the wind whipping against her face.

They ride hard, the Crag’s treacherous paths a blur beneath their horses. Sharp rocks and uneven ground threaten their every step, the horses’ breaths coming out in laboured puffs. The Echo’s taunts grow fainter, but the seeds of doubt it planted still linger. Shadows stretch and twist in the moonlight, turning every rock and boulder into a potential threat.

The further they ride from the Crag, the fainter the Echo’s taunts become, until Thaera sets them aside like a distant memory. She feels the crushing weight lifting from her shoulders. But she knows that the Echo has left scars. As they finally slow, she catches Erevan glancing at her. “We’ll talk about it,” she says softly, “when we’re safe.”

III. Ripples on the Water

- Erevan -

The Lyese Descent tests both rider and steed, its rocky slopes winding like a basilisk. Erevan grips the reins with practiced ease as his horse navigates the uneven terrain. He can’t resist a chuckle as a stray goat leaps effortlessly from one precarious ledge to another. The laughter spreads to Thaera, breaking the fragile silence that has held them since their escape from the Crag. In that moment, the memory of the Echo fades, replaced by the shared warmth of a simple joy. They were still themselves, even after the verbal wounds.

They descend further into the White Grasslands. The world opens wide before them, an endless sea of silver-tipped grasses swaying gently in the breeze. The sharp edges of the Descent give way to the soft embrace of the plains, the landscape soothing to Erevan. The wind carries the scent of wildflowers, mingling with the fresh smell of the grasses. Erevan feels the tension slowly unwinding as they ride side by side, letting the quiet speak of understanding, not distance.

The hours pass in a rhythm, steady like the beat of their horses’ hooves. Erevan’s thoughts drift, touching on old memories of battles and long-forgotten paths, before settling on the present. The Crossroads finally emerge from the horizon, marked by a weathered signpost pointing in four different directions. Erevan reins his horse to a stop. He dismounts with a deliberate slowness, studying each name carved into the wood: Aroford, the Crest, Willow Dale, and Longbridge. Each place holds a story, a choice, a path that could change everything — or nothing.

He considers their options, measuring them not just by distance or danger, but by what they mean for Thaera. In the end, his decision is simple. “Longbridge,” he declares, turning to meet her expectant gaze.

Thaera’s eyes narrow curiously. “Longbridge? Isn’t that where —”

“Yes,” Erevan interrupts, a smile tugging at his lips. “And before you ask, yes, we can stop by and see your old friend. We’ll need to leave the horses at the stables there anyway.”

Thaera’s brow lifts in surprise. “And why would we need to do that?”

“If I told you, it would spoil one of the surprises I’ve planned,” Erevan teases. He watches the glint of amusement in her eyes, feeling a familiar warmth bloom in his chest. Thaera, always so keen to uncover secrets, still has the mind of a wanderer. The thought reassures him, easing some of the worries left by the Echo’s game.

Thaera’s smile eases into something more tender. “And once we’re there, we’ll talk about the Echo’s lies?”

Erevan’s expression sobers, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. “Yes,” he promises. “But know this — no matter what that creature said, none of it changes the truth. I love you, Thaera, now and always.”

She leans into his touch, her own hand covering his. “I love you too, Erevan.”

They mount their horses again and continue down the path to Longbridge, the landscape shifting gradually from open plains to rolling hills dotted with the occasional oak. As they ride, Erevan replaces the silence with tales from their past travels, sharing bits of history and lore about the surrounding regions. “You’ve never been to the Crest, have you?” he asks, glancing over at her.

Thaera shakes her head. “No, though I’ve heard stories of the blue trees.”

“They’re not just stories,” Erevan replies with a wistful note. “The trees there truly are blue, swaying in a constant breeze that never touches the ground. They’re perfectly spaced too, like someone planted them with a ruler in hand. The place is… magical, in a way that’s hard to describe.” He smiles, momentarily far away, lost in the memory of that quiet, otherworldly grove. Their conversation drifts on, touching on the places they’ve yet to explore and those they might never see again.

When they finally reach Longbridge, the town greets them with the familiar scent of hearth smoke and freshly baked bread. Erevan takes in the sight of the wooden houses clustered along the riverbank, connected by the sturdy stone bridge that gives the town its name. He can’t help but muse that the town’s founders could have been more creative, but perhaps simplicity has its own charm. With the echo of old battles and adventures etched into his bones, Erevan feels an overwhelming contentment being back on the road again. The city life of Ironheist, with its suffocating walls and endless squabbles, has always felt like a prison, while the open road offers a liberty nothing else can.

“Meet me by the wishing well when you’re done with the horses,” Thaera says, drawing him back to the present. She dismounts with grace and walks toward the square.

“I’ll be there soon,” Erevan replies, offering a reassuring nod before guiding the horses toward the stables. The stable master is an old man with a wiry build, his hands calloused from years of handling reins and tending to horses. As Erevan hands over the reins, the man gives him a curious look. “You’re not from these parts, are you?”

“Not for many years,” Erevan answers. “But I’ve passed through a few times.”

The stable master hums in acknowledgment, then adds, “You’ve got that look of a man who’s seen his share of fights. Don’t lose that edge — it’s what keeps us alive.”

Erevan grins in return, appreciating the candid advice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Erevan leaves the stables and heads toward the square, his thoughts wander to the Siege of the Blood Bind — one of the most brutal battles fought during Moonreign. Longbridge had been a critical point of defence, its narrow bridge the last line between the cultists and the overtaking of the kingdom. Erevan remembers the night vividly: the blood-red light of the moons reflecting off the river, the screams of the dying, the unholy chants of the cultists. He shakes off the bleak memory as he spots Thaera by the wishing well, but something’s wrong.

Erevan’s boots crunch across the cobblestones as he rushes toward Thaera, who stands sobbing near the old wishing well. Her hand hovers above it, clutching a small gold coin. He slows as he approaches, catching the sorrow in her eyes.

“I thought you were going to see a friend,” he says gently.

Thaera doesn’t meet his gaze right away. Her fingers tighten around the coin, and she takes a shaky breath. “She died, Erevan. Three years ago. I only just found out. I came here to… to wish her peace in the afterlife.”

Erevan’s heart aches for her loss. He reaches out and places a comforting hand on her back. “I’m so sorry, Thaera. I didn’t know.”

“Neither did I,” she croaks. “Maybe the Echo was right. Maybe I got so lost in my art that I stopped seeing people. And now it’s too late.”

Erevan turns her gently toward him, his hand finding her shoulder. “It’s not an obsession; it’s your passion. You couldn’t have known she was suffering. Sometimes… things happen in life that we can’t foresee.”

Thaera’s tears well up as she clutches the coin tighter. “We used to play together as kids. When everyone was afraid because the moons froze and nightfall hung over Kardanhold for weeks. She and I found it beautiful. We would run through the unlit streets, hand in hand, pretending we were in a world only we could see.”

The memory brings a sob from her chest. Erevan doesn’t say anything, knowing there are no words to remedy that kind of pain. Instead, he pulls her into a tight embrace, resting his chin on top of her head as she cries into his shoulder. After a few moments, Erevan lets her go just enough to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a second gold coin and tosses it into the well, the splash bouncing high.

“A token for your loss,” he says. “One for both of you.”

Thaera looks up at him through her tears. Erevan’s thumb brushes away the wetness on her cheek, and his heart drops at how vulnerable she looks. “Come on. Take my hand. There’s something I want to show you.”

She takes his hand, and Erevan slides his other arm around her waist. Slowly, he guides her toward the far-left side of the bridge. An open space reveals a flight of stairs descending toward the riverbank, hidden from the town’s bustle. As they make their way down, Erevan grits his teeth, exerting more effort than he expects. His knees creak with each step, a reminder of how age has worn on him. Still, he keeps going, determined not to let it show.

At the bottom, the town’s noise disappears into the background. The only sounds come from the trickling water, the chirping of insects, and the soft glow of Lumenflies flitting among the reeds. Thaera seems to absorb the peaceful scenery, her breath steadying as she relaxes.

“It’s beautiful here,” she says softly.

Erevan beams a playful look. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

He leads her to the edge of the bank where a small canoe is tied. Thaera’s face lights up. “A boat ride?”

“To get to our next stop, we have to row across the river,” Erevan explains with a grin. “We could’ve taken the path through Willowdale, but I figured this scenic route might be better.” He steps into the boat, extending a hand to help her in. As she places her hand in his, Erevan feels a warm flutter in his stomach. This simple act, sharing this moment together, reminds him why he loves giving these little surprises.

Once they’re both seated, Erevan takes up the oars. Thaera reaches for the other set, but he shakes his head. “No need. Just relax. Once we get moving, the current will carry us.”

“You’re always taking care of me,” she says.

“It was part of my vows, remember?” he replies with a wink. The memory of their wedding day flickers vividly in his mind — the crisp white of her dress, the way her hair fell upon her shoulders. Everything about that day was perfect. A smile creeps up to both ears, and when Thaera notices, she asks, “Are we thinking about the same thing?”

“Most likely,” he replies, their eyes locking in a shared memory. For a brief moment, the depth of their connection leaves them both speechless. Thaera breaks with a slight downward glance, almost shy.

Erevan understands the load of their unspoken worries. “Don’t dwell on what happened in the Crag. The Echo doesn’t get everything right.”

Thaera’s look sharpens. “But what did it get right?”

“Only the obvious.” Erevan’s expression dulls as he cracks his back, tightening his grip on the oars. “It’s true that the years are catching up to me. And… I worry sometimes that you don’t find me as attractive anymore. That my strength isn’t what it used to be, and it makes me… less of a man.”

Thaera assures him, “You’re as handsome now as the day we met, Erevan. I don’t see the lines or the years. I see you.” She reaches for the other oar again, insisting, “Let me help. If we row together, it’ll be easier on you. We’re husband and wife, after all. We always share the load.”

Erevan feels a warmth at her words, though his expression remains steady. She’s right, of course — they’re a team. But even as they row in unison, Erevan knows there’s one more truth he must voice.

“There’s only one other thing the Echo got right,” he says quietly. “The children.”

Thaera’s grip on the oar tightens. “What about them?”

Erevan hesitates. “I’m going to die sooner than you, Thaera. You’ll live long past me, thanks to the air in Skyvale. And I can’t help but feel like you’ve wasted your life with me… that I’ve kept you from having a family, from being a mother.”

She stops rowing and turns to him, her voice firm. “I chose you, Erevan. You are my family. You’re more than enough to make me happy. Even after we part into the next life, you’ll still be my husband. There won’t ever be anyone else.”

A tear escapes down Erevan’s cheek before he can stop it. Thaera places a hand on his knee, her touch grounding him as he wipes his eyes. The oars rest idle in the water as they both take in the quiet beauty of their surroundings — the river lit up by the glow of Lumenflies and floating fungi, painting the scene with cosy yellows and oranges.

Erevan’s voice is gentle. “What about you? What truths did the Echo reveal?”

Thaera’s lips press into a thin line before she answers. “The same as you — two truths, the rest lies. I worry that my hobbies, my art, have driven me away from friendships. Sometimes I think I spend too much time alone, and I’ve let people slip away.”

Erevan nods thoughtfully. “There’s a balance to be found, but don’t punish yourself for lost time. If your friends are true, it’s never too late to reach out.”

“You’re right,” she whispers. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about the past, the future however…”

He nods. “Exactly. And what’s the second truth?”

“You’ll laugh”.

“I promise I won’t,” he says, his tone sincere.

She sighs. “It’s my art. I’ve been painting for almost ten years, and nothing’s come of it. No exhibitions, no interest. I can’t help but feel… it’ll never amount to anything.”

Erevan’s brow furrows. “There’s nothing to laugh about. Your art is incredible, Thaera. You just need the right connections.”

She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Compared to your worries, mine seem so trivial.”

“Not to me,” he replies. “Every second that passes, my love for you grows. That’s what matters most. No worry is trivial.”

They hold hands, their fingers entwined as they soak in the moment. The river’s surface ripples gently, reflecting the moons and stars, crafting a dreamlike landscape around them. Erevan reaches out, placing a hand on Thaera’s cheek, his thumb tracing soft circles across her skin. Slowly, he leans in, their lips meeting in a long, passionate kiss. His heart bangs, warmth spreading through his chest as butterflies flutter in his stomach. Everything else fades away — just the two of them, lost in their connection.

When they finally pull back, their foreheads rest against each other, eyes locked. Erevan smirks. “Well, now that’s been cleared up… you can still swim, right?”

Thaera’s brow crinkles. “It’s not something you forget. Why do you ask?”

A mischievous grin shines across his face. “Let’s get in.”

Before she can respond, Erevan playfully pushes her into the water. Her startled gasp is followed by silence, and for a heartbeat, Erevan panics — until she shoots back to the surface, laughing hysterically.

She’s fooled him, and he knows it. With his grin still beaming, he jumps in after her, their cheerful splashing filling the air. They swim around each other, hands occasionally brushing, until they float near the boat once more. Gently, they close the distance between them and share another kiss.

“We’re here,” Erevan says, gesturing toward the riverbank. Together, they swim toward it, pushing the boat ashore. As they climb out of the water, Erevan’s heart and mind swell with happiness. Thaera’s laughter, the serene night, and the warmth of their love — it’s everything he could ever want. And in this moment, nothing else matters.

IV. Under the Light of Two Moons

- Thaera -

The water clings to their clothes as Erevan and Thaera wade to the shore, droplets trailing from their soaked garments like diamonds. They emerge onto the riverbank, the earth cool beneath their bare feet, and gaze up at the endless forest stretching before them. Tall, thick-trunked trees stand like ancient watchers, their canopies woven together into a living roof. Vines twist and drape from branch to branch, while clusters of glowing fungi pulse softly, bathing the shadows. To Thaera, it looks less like a forest and more like a sprawling, untamed jungle.

Erevan rummages through his pack and produces a simple cotton cloth, offering it to her with a smirk. “Ladies first.”

“Ever the gentleman,” she teases. As she pats herself dry, the sounds of the forest wash over her — the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of night birds, and the chirps of unseen insects. There’s a richness to the atmosphere, thick with the scent of damp earth, fragrant blooms, and a hint of something more elusive — a familiarity tugging at her memory.

Thaera pauses. The cloth hangs loosely in her hand as she scans their surroundings. “I think I’ve been here before…” Her voice trails off, more to herself than to Erevan.

Erevan tilts his head, curiosity booming in his eyes. “Oh? Are you sure?”

“Not sure… but it feels like a half-remembered dream. Maybe the Echo left its mark on more than just our minds,” she says, half-joking to dispel the clinging unease.

Erevan offers a reassuring smile. “If that’s the case, we’ll overwrite it with better memories.”

They begin their journey into the belly of the forest, walking side by side as the terrain grows wilder. Hours pass with the gradual shift of the landscape — from towering oaks to clusters of low-hanging ferns and tangled underbrush. Thaera’s mind wanders as they navigate the ever-thickening foliage. She watches Erevan from the corner of her eye, his stride steady despite the uneven ground. There’s a part of her that wishes he could truly understand how much he means to her. When he brought up his grey hairs earlier, she almost laughed — she hadn’t even noticed until he mentioned it. All she sees is the man who’s been her anchor, her companion through countless trials.

Thaera’s thoughts pull back to the forest. The birdsong and the smell of earthy moss bring fleeting images — of a battlefield soaked in blood, of soldiers clashing among trees that weren’t as dense back then. And of a figure standing over her, his sword raised, his voice commanding. The sounds of war echo in her ears, and she feels the cold mud against her skin, the taste of fear sharp on her tongue.

She breaks the silence. “There weren’t as many trees then… at least not that I remember.”

Erevan glances at her, catching her distant look. “You’re thinking of the war, aren’t you?”

She nods slowly, the memories surfacing with a surprising clarity. “I’d just enlisted in the Skyvale army. My parents disapproved, of course. They wanted me safe, far from battle. But I was stubborn and ended up on the wrong side of that skirmish.” Her gaze hardens. “I remember lying in the mud, barely holding onto consciousness. I saw your soldiers marching toward us, blades glinting in the light. We were defeated. I was certain that was the end.”

Erevan’s voice is filled with a low reverence. “I remember that day too. I was leading the charge when our eyes met. Something in the way you looked at me… I couldn’t let you die.”

Thaera lets out a soft laugh. “And not all of your men agreed. That one brute — he wanted to claim me as a spoil of war.”

Erevan’s expression darkens at the recollection. “I wasn’t going to let that happen. He might’ve outranked me, but I drew my sword anyway. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but it felt like fate.” He turns to her, his gaze searching. “You saved me that day too. When he lunged again and you fought back… I didn’t expect it. But I admired your spirit, even in defeat.”

Thaera’s eyes mellow as she watches Erevan, not for his actions, but for the little things — the way he hums to himself when deep in thought, the absentminded scratch of his nose, and the intensity with which he studies their surroundings. It’s these small habits that remind her of how deeply she loves him. Her heart skips a beat as she murmurs, “I know where we are now. So, where are you taking me?”

“If you know where we are,” Erevan replies, “then I don’t need to tell you where we’re going.” He offers his hand, and she takes it without hesitation, laughing as he leads her up a winding path.

As they continue their journey, a faint shriek pierces the stillness.

Thaera pauses, her ears straining to catch the sound again. “Did you hear that?” she whispers, her brow furrowing with concern.

Erevan nods, his eyes sweeping the thick underbrush. “Sounds like it’s coming from over there,” he says, pointing toward a dense cluster of bushes just off the beaten trail.

They carefully push through the foliage, their footsteps squelching against the damp forest floor. As they approach, the cries grow louder, a high-pitched wail that spells distress. Finally, they break through the last of the branches and find a small, injured creature lying in a patch of moonlit grass.

“It’s a baby Aerocciu,” Thaera breathes. The creature is no larger than a small dog, its great wingspan folded awkwardly beneath it. Beautiful, multi-coloured fur covers its body, shimmering in the moonlight with shades of blue, green, and gold. It looks up at them with wide, frightened eyes, its tiny beak opening and closing as it cries out in pain.

Erevan kneels beside the creature, his movements slow and calm. “Looks like one of its wings is broken,” he murmurs, brushing lightly over the delicate feathers.

Thaera crouches down next to him, her heart aching for the poor thing. “We can’t just leave it here,” she says. “We have to help it.”

Erevan nods in agreement, carefully examining the injured wing. As he does, Thaera notices a small, luminous flower growing nearby. Its petals are silver, glowing faintly among the other foliage. She gasps quietly. “Erevan, that’s a Moondrop Blossom! They say it has healing properties.”

Erevan glances over. “I’ve heard of those. Let’s see if it works.”

He carefully picks the delicate flower and crushes its petals between his fingers, producing a glowing ointment that he gently applies to the Aerocciu’s wing. Almost immediately, the creature’s cries soften, and the wing begins to mend before them. The feathers straighten, and the break seems to knit itself back together. Thaera and Erevan watch in awe as the Aerocciu gives a tentative flap of its wings.

“It’s working,” Thaera whispers, her face alight with wonder.

Erevan smiles, dropping back his shoulders. “Looks like it’ll be able to fly again.”

With a soft coo, the Aerocciu takes to the air, circling above them once before darting off into the forest canopy, likely to reunite with its mother. Thaera watches it go, a sense of contentment settling over her. “That was incredible,” she says, turning to Erevan. “You’re always so good with animals, even the mythical ones.”

Erevan chuckles. “Maybe I missed my calling as a healer instead of a warrior.”

Thaera laughs gently. “You know… seeing you with that little one…”

Erevan’s smile fades slightly, replaced by a contemplative expression, but he says nothing. They continue walking, eventually making their way up a twisting path that leads them through the thickening forest. They ascend an incline, weaving through trees until they reach a clearing.

At the summit, Thaera turns back and gasps at the breath-taking view. Below them, the river winds like a silver thread against the green, while in the distance, the mountains stretch and slice through the clouds. The moons hang low and full, their soft light casting a dreamlike pallor over the scenery. Thaera has never seen them from this vantage point, so clear and dazzling. The world opens up to a kind of beauty she has never imagined.

Erevan’s voice breaks her trance. “We met over there,” he says, gesturing to a spot near a fallen log. “An inch or two from where that log is. I figured you had never seen the other side, so here it is.”

Thaera’s heart skips a beat as she looks at the spot he indicates. The place where they first met seems almost sacred now, a pivotal moment in their history. She turns her gaze back to the silver and blue. “I wish I had brought my paintbrushes… and a canvas.”

Erevan’s eyes twinkle. He reaches into his backpack, which he has set down on the grass, and pulls out two paintbrushes and two blank canvases. “Is one each any use?” he asks. “I thought we might try and paint it together.”

Thaera’s face lights up. “I would love that. You always said you can’t paint?”

Erevan shrugs. “I can try.”

He sets up the canvases on two flat rocks, arranging them so that the view is framed perfectly. Thaera watches him with a warm smile, touched by his thoughtfulness. As they begin to paint, the tranquil setting infuses their work with a serene quality. Thaera finds herself lost in the rhythmic motion of her brush, capturing the moonlit scene with a myriad of colours and textures. She marvels at Erevan’s attempts, admiring how he approaches the canvas like an epic quest.

Her mind drifts as she paints, reflecting on how Erevan never stops being romantic, even after all these years. The way he has set up this moment for her, the way he tries so earnestly despite his admitted lack of skill — it all speaks of a love that has only ever deepened. Time seems to slip away as they paint, their strokes merging with the world around them.

When they are finally done, Erevan examines Thaera’s work with genuine admiration. “It’s wonderful,” he says. “How does mine look?”

Thaera studies his painting with a grin. “Potatoes,” she says, stifling a laugh. “It looks like two baked potatoes floating above the ocean.”

Erevan bursts into laughter, the sound echoing in the clearing. “Well, that’s a new way to interpret the moons. I guess I’m more of a culinary artist than a painter.”

Their laughter mingles into the night, a light-hearted end to their artistic endeavour. As the chuckles subside, Thaera mentions that it is getting cold and late. Erevan, with a twinkle in his eye, jokes, “How can you tell? It’s always nightfall during Moonreign.”

He begins gathering nearby logs and arranging them for a fire, and Thaera helps him. They work together seamlessly, their movements synchronized. As they set up their tent nearby, Erevan speaks about how he feels at home in the woods, surrounded by nature. Thaera laughs, teasing him about his romanticism and how he always seems to find joy in the simple things.

With the fire crackling, they settle onto the logs, their gazes lifted to the stars and moons. The firelight dances across their faces, adding a soft and intimate glow to the scene. They reminisce about their past, talking about the passage of years and how quickly time seems to have flown by. Thaera cuddles closer to Erevan, feeling a deep sense of protection. Despite the years, Erevan’s romantic gestures are still so frequent, and she feels an overwhelming love for him.

As the warmth of the fire wraps around them, Erevan’s expression grows more serious. He turns to Thaera, his voice quieter now. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” he begins, taking her hand in his.

Thaera looks at him with curiosity, hearing the shake in his voice. “What is it, Erevan?”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the flames. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future… about us. And I want to apologize for how I reacted when you first brought up the idea of adoption. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it… I was just afraid.”

Thaera’s expression softens, and she squeezes his hand gently. “Erevan, I understand. It’s a big decision. I never wanted to pressure you.”

He nods, grateful for her understanding. “I know. But it’s more than just the decision itself. It’s… I’ve always seen myself as a warrior. My parents, they were taken from me so early, and I never really learned how to be anything else. The idea of being a father… it scares me. What if I’m not good enough? What if I can’t protect them?”

Thaera leans closer, her voice tender. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Erevan. You would be an incredible father. And I think it’s okay to be scared. It means you care. It means you’d try your best.”

Erevan looks at her, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “I just don’t want to let you down. You deserve everything, Thaera. And I feel like… I’ve held you back.”

Thaera shakes her head, a gentle smile on her lips. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my partner, my rock. And I know adoption is a big step. We don’t have to decide anything right now. But I want you to know that whatever you choose, I’ll be here. By your side, always.”

Erevan pulls her into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Thaera. For being so patient with me. For loving me.”

She smiles against his shoulder. “We’re in this together, always.”

He nods, holding her close. “Always.”

They sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying the closeness, before Thaera glances toward the tent. “It’s still quite cold.”

“I know exactly what will warm us up,” Erevan replies, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Thaera lifts her eyebrows playfully, and Erevan rises to his feet. He helps her up, and they make their way to the tent together. As they crawl inside, Thaera’s socks are the first to fling out of the tent’s gap, followed by the rest of their clothes.

Outside, the forest seems to grow quieter, the usual hum of nocturnal life fading into an uneasy silence. The shadows stretch and shift, moving almost too fluidly in the fire’s glow. Thaera pauses, a shiver caressing her spine, but Erevan’s hand finds hers, pulling her into the safety of their tent. She tells herself it’s nothing, just the wind in the trees. But the feeling of being watched lingers, settling like a stone in her gut as she lay.

V. Red Meadows

- Erevan -

Erevan wakes to darkness and confusion. The earthy scent of the forest is gone, replaced by something damp and metallic. His muscles protest as he shifts slightly, and that’s when he realises — he can’t move. The hard tug of rough ropes bites into his wrists and ankles, pinning him in place. Panic flares, and he lurches instinctively, but his attempts are futile. A coarse cloth is tied over his head, blocking his vision, but he can make out the faint outlines of leaves swaying far above through the gaps in the fabric.

There’s movement around him — heavy footsteps crunching against leaves and snapping twigs. Men speak in muffled voices, their words distorted by the thick cloth. He struggles to focus, trying to decipher the language, but it’s not one he recognizes. All he can think of is Thaera. Where is she?

And then he hears it — a muffled scream, distant but unmistakable.

“Thaera!” he shouts, his voice coming out as a desperate rasp. The cry is met with a grunt from nearby, followed by a sharp pain in his side as someone kicks him. The breath leaves his lungs in a ragged exhale, but he forces himself to lift his head, straining to catch any glimpse of her. His eyes adjust just enough to see a shadow — a figure being dragged ahead of him. Thaera. Her hands are bound like his, and something white is stuffed in her mouth to silence her screams.

The ropes dig deeper into his wrists as he pulls against them, fury boiling in his chest. “Thaera! I’m here! I’ll —” But his words are cut off as a heavy blow lands against the side of his head. There’s a moment of searing pain, and then the world fades into blackness.

When Erevan regains consciousness, it’s to a different kind of darkness — the kind that presses down with a quiet menace. The smell of burning wood clings to the wind, carrying faint echoes of distant chanting. His eyes snap open, and he blinks against the golden light of a low, flickering fire. The cloth is gone, replaced by a dull ache behind his eyes. He’s upright, his back pressed against cold stone. The ropes have been replaced with chains, digging into his wrists and holding him in place against the rough surface of a carved pillar. He struggles to get a sense of their surroundings.

They’re in a vast meadow, surrounded by towering stone columns, each one rough-hewn and weathered. They form an imperfect circle. Between the pillars, smaller stone altars are scattered haphazardly, some with deep grooves carved into them, others blackened by flame. The grass here is patchy and sickly, the very ground drained of life. In the centre of it all, a fire pit crackles with low, smouldering flames, the embers casting a ruddy glow on everything within the circle.

Erevan turns his head to the right and sees Thaera, slumped against another pillar just a few feet away. Her head hangs low, strands of her dark hair falling over her face, but she’s breathing. He calls her name softly, hoping to wake her without drawing unwanted attention, but there’s no response.

“Thaera…” he whispers again, louder this time. Still nothing. He clenches his teeth and scans the perimeter for any sign of movement. The chanting remains distant, disembodied voices echoing faintly from somewhere beyond the meadow. Whoever brought them here is keeping their distance — for now.

A breeze sweeps through the clearing, and with it comes the scent of blood, cloying and coppery. His stomach churns as he takes in the symbols carved into the pillars — the marks of the Blood Bind. The sight brings back bitter memories of Longbridge: homes razed to the ground, villagers taken in the dead of night, never to be seen again. Their twisted rituals have haunted the borderlands for years. Erevan feels a cold dread settle in his chest, recognizing the sacrificial nature of their predicament.

Thaera stirs beside him, groaning softly as she starts coming to consciousness. Relief floods his chest, but it’s quickly overtaken by renewed urgency.

“Thaera, wake up,” he says, keeping his tone low and steady. “We’re not alone.”

Her eyes flutter open, bleary with exhaustion. She blinks a few times, confusion giving way to alarm as she takes in her restraints and their surroundings. “Erevan… what happened?” Her voice is hoarse, laced with fear she’s trying hard to mask.

“We were ambushed. Taken. I think it’s the Blood Bind.” He nods toward the nearest pillar, where their dark symbols are etched into the stone. “I recognize the markings. They’re zealots — moon-worshippers. They attacked Longbridge a few years back, took people for their rituals. I heard stories of what they do now… harvesting organs as offerings during Moonreign.”

Thaera’s expression hardens, her lips thinning with anger. “I remember hearing about that massacre. The survivors said they used the moons to justify everything — believed that when the two are full, a gateway opens to the heavens for those who offer enough blood.”

“And they think we’re the sacrifice this time,” he says bitterly. “They believe Moonreign grants them some kind of divine favour if they make the right offerings.”

For a moment, there’s only the crackle of the fire and the distant chanting. Thaera narrows her eyes, scanning the meadow with the same sharp focus she’s always had. “But where are they now? They’ve gone through all this trouble to bring us here, and yet no one’s watching us.”

“They’re probably preparing for the main event,” Erevan says grimly. “We need to find a way out before they come back.”

Thaera tugs at her bindings, testing the strength of the chains. The effort leaves red marks on her wrists, but the chains hold firm. She slumps back against the pillar in frustration. “We can’t give up, Erevan. If we let them get their hands on us, we’re as good as dead.”

“I know.” He tugs at his own bindings, feeling the cold metal cut into his skin. But even as he struggles, his mind races, trying to find some way to turn this around. “We’ll find a way. We always do.”

Thaera’s gaze meets his, fierce and unyielding. There’s fear in her eyes, yes, but also determination. Whatever happens next, they’ll face it together.

Erevan clenches his fists against the ropes, frustration gnawing at him as his mind runs through endless ways they might escape. He forces himself to stay calm — panic won’t help either of them now. He turns his head slightly to catch Thaera’s eye, hoping to keep her spirits up. “You know,” he says with a dry chuckle, “we’ve been in worse situations, haven’t we?”

Thaera raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Worse than being tied to a pillar, surrounded by lunatics who think the moons want us dead? I’d love to hear your definition of ‘worse,’ Erevan.”

He lets out a soft laugh, more genuine this time. “You’ve got a point.” His tone grows lighter as he adds, “But think of it this way: if we make it out of this, we’ve got something new to look forward to.”

Her smile falters, doubt creeping back into her eyes. “If we make it out,” she murmurs, her voice tight. “This might be it, Erevan. Maybe we don’t walk away from this one.”

The fear in her voice tugs at him, and he knows he has to pull her back from that edge. “Hey,” he says gently, catching her gaze. “If we do get out, there’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. A new adventure for us.”

Thaera looks at him, puzzled. “A new adventure?”

He nods, trying to keep his tone casual. “Adoption. If we survive this, maybe it’s time we stop dodging death and bring a little life into our world instead.”

Her eyes widen in shock, and for a moment she just stares at him, as if she’s waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, her expression crumbles. Tears well up in her eyes, but they’re not from fear. “Really?”

“Really,” Erevan says. “But we have to get out alive first.”

She laughs delicately, a sound filled with joy despite their dire circumstances. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious.”

“As a sword in the gut,” he quips, and she lets out a shaky breath, blinking back more tears. Before either of them can say more, the distant chanting grows louder. The atmosphere shifts, a cold tension seeping into the air as shadowy figures emerge from the tree line, moving toward the circle. The cultists enter in silent procession, surrounding the stone pillars in an eerie stillness. Their leader, a tall man clad in tattered robes, steps forward, the chanting falling to a low murmur.

“You have been chosen by the gods above,” the leader intones, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying the power of fanatical belief. “The moons are hungry for your blood, and we are but their servants.”

Erevan’s eyes narrow as the cultists begin to sharpen their blades, the metallic rasp of metal grating against stone. Some of them start to dance in strange, disjointed motions, their limbs jerking as if guided by unseen hands. The leader lowers his hood, revealing a face scarred with crude symbols, lines carved into his skin with a knife. Some of the wounds are fresh, blood still trickling down his cheeks in thin rivulets.

The sight makes Erevan’s stomach turn, but he forces himself to stay composed. They need time, anything to delay the inevitable. “The moons must be proud of your dedication,” he says, pitching his voice to sound impressed, almost reverent. “But tell me… what do the symbols mean? Perhaps I could feel closer to Lysa and Tyra if one of them was carved into my face before I die.”

The leader’s eyes gleam with dark interest, his smile widening in grotesque pleasure. “You wish to honour the moons with your flesh? Very well.” He steps closer, drawing a long, serrated knife from his belt. Erevan’s eyes catch the gleam of a sheathed sword at the man’s hip — his sword, the one the cultists must have stolen during the ambush. Erevan’s heart pounds in his chest, but he remains outwardly calm, knowing he only has one chance to turn this situation around.

The leader grips Erevan’s chin with cold fingers, forcing his head back as he brings the blade closer. “It is fitting for a sacrifice to wear the marks of the gods,” the man whispers, his breath sour. He begins to carve a line into Erevan’s cheek, the blade biting into flesh. Pain shoots through Erevan’s face, but he grits his teeth, enduring it.

Thaera calls out, desperation in her voice. “Wait! I have questions! I want to understand before we die!”

The leader hesitates, momentarily distracted, turning his head toward Thaera. In that split second, Erevan pulls his hand free from the loosened rope he’s been working on. With a swift motion, he grabs the hilt of the leader’s sword and wrenches it free. Simultaneously, he slams his forehead into the man’s face. The impact cracks against bone, sending the cult leader stumbling back with a cry of pain.

Without wasting a second, Erevan saws through his remaining bindings, the sharp blade slicing through the rope like butter. Before the leader can recover, Erevan lunges, driving the sword deep into his stomach. The man gasps, eyes wide with shock as blood spills from his lips. Erevan watches coldly as the light fades from his eyes, then pulls the sword free with a brutal twist.

He doesn’t have time to savour the victory. The other cultists have stopped their chanting and dancing, their expressions morphing from eerie joy to fury. Weapons are drawn in unison, and Erevan quickly cuts Thaera’s bonds. He hands her the leader’s dagger, their eyes locking in shared determination.

“Stay behind me,” he orders, his voice firm.

Thaera shakes her head, fire in her gaze. “No chance.”

Erevan allows himself a brief smile, then turns his attention to the approaching cultists. The first one charges, and Erevan meets him head-on, their blades clashing with a sharp ring. The cultist is strong but sloppy, and Erevan disarms him with a swift twist before driving his sword through the man’s chest. Another cultist lunges at Thaera, but she’s ready — she throws the dagger with deadly precision, the blade embedding itself in the man’s skull.

They fight side by side, moving in perfect sync despite the chaos. The fire roars higher, and shadows flicker across the clearing as the moons bear witness to the bloodshed. Erevan takes down another cultist with a clean slash across the throat, while Thaera snatches up a fallen sword, spinning to parry an incoming strike. She counters with a vicious slice that dismembers her attacker, blood spraying in an arc.

A cultist tries to flank Erevan, but Thaera steps in, slashing across the man’s back. Erevan doesn’t waste the opportunity, driving his sword into the cultist’s chest. The two move together seamlessly, back-to-back, their movements fluid and instinctive. For every blade that comes at them, they have a response — whether it’s a lethal riposte from Erevan or a precise strike from Thaera.

The air is thick with the scent of blood and smoke. Each clash of steel sends sparks flying, the ground slick beneath their feet as they cut down the cultists one by one. But the enemy numbers are dwindling, the remaining cultists now hesitant, fear in their eyes as they realize they’re outmatched. One tries to flee, but Erevan is faster — his sword slices through the man’s leg, bringing him down before a quick thrust ends his life.

Finally, the last armed cultist falls, his body crumpling to the ground as the fire crackles, the only sound left in the clearing. Erevan and Thaera stand together, panting and bloodied, but alive. The adrenaline slowly ebbs, replaced by exhaustion and a grim satisfaction.

For a moment, there’s only silence, the meadow bathed in ghostly moonlight. The remaining cultists falter, fear overtaking their fervour. With their leader dead, their conviction crumbles. They flee into the forest, shadows disappearing into the night.

Erevan lowers his sword, huffing heavily as he surveys the carnage. The fire in the pit has died down to glowing embers, casting the scene in a soft, reddish light. Beside him, Thaera collapses to one knee, exhaustion finally catching up.

“We did it,” she says breathlessly, with a tinge of disbelief.

“Yeah,” Erevan replies, offering her a hand to help her up. “But let’s get out of here before they change their minds.”

Thaera takes his hand, gripping it tightly. Together, they limp toward the edge of the meadow, leaving behind the blood-soaked stones and twisted symbols. Above them, the twin moons continue their slow journey across the sky, indifferent to the death and suffering below.

As they reach the treeline, Thaera glances back once more at the meadow. “Still think it’s time for a new adventure?” she asks, a hint of a smile returning.

Erevan’s tired but determined eyes meet hers. “Absolutely.”

VI. The Festival

- Thaera -

Thaera gazes at the town of Alyria as they approach, her heart swelling with anticipation. The town lies nestled in the valley below, its narrow streets aglow with lanterns strung from house to house, their warm light a gentle hug against the lasting night of Moonreign. Lysa and Tyra hang low in the sky, throwing a silvery glow over the town, making everything shimmer as if touched by magic.

The sounds of laughter and music reach them even from this distance, carried on the breeze sweeping up the hillside. Thaera smells the tantalizing aroma of spiced meats and sweet pastries, mingling with the scent of fresh mountain air. Her eyes are wide, trying to take in every detail. She has always dreamed of seeing Alyria, capturing its elegance on canvas. Now, she is finally here.

“Look at that,” Erevan says softly beside her, full of the same wonder she feels.

Thaera turns to him, her eyes shining. “It’s even more perfect than I imagined,” she replies. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He smiles, expressing a quiet satisfaction. “I knew you’d love it,” he says. “I’ve been counting down the days. I made sure we stayed on course, even after the Blood Bind… I wanted us to be here for this.”

Thaera’s heart skips a beat. She reaches out, taking his hand in hers. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he mirrors, gently squeezing her hand. They stand there for a moment, taking it all in, before making their way down the path into the thick of the town.

Upon entering Alyria, they are immediately swept up in the vibrant energy of the festival. The streets are packed, all kinds of people celebrating under the glow of the twin moons. Everywhere she looks, Thaera sees faces painted with joy, illuminated by the light of the lanterns and the colours of the fireworks occasionally bursting above, leaving trails of silver and blue across the lingering night sky.

They glide through the crowd, weaving between stalls selling all manner of delights. Thaera can’t help but smile when she sees children running with sparklers, hearing laughter so bright and infectious. Musicians play in every square, some melodies tough, most blending together like a quire of angels. Some sing old ballads of love and loss, while others play jolly tunes that make her want to dance.

She feels Erevan’s hand on her waist, guiding her through the masses. “Look over there,” he says, pointing at a group of dancers spinning in circles. “Shall we join them?”

Thaera laughs, her heart like a feather. “Why not?” She lets herself be led into the dance, her movements guided by the music and the great times surrounding her. Erevan spins her around, his touch gentle but firm, and in that moment, she forgets everything else — the Blood Bind, the battles they’ve fought, the years that have passed. All that matters is this moment, this joy.

They dance until they are breathless, then make their way to a quieter corner of the town. Erevan leads her to a small bench beneath a flowering tree, its blossoms pale and luminous in the moonlight. He sits beside her, reaching into his pack and pulling out a small, wrapped package.

“What’s this?” Thaera asks.

“Open it,” Erevan says, smirking.

She unwraps the package carefully, revealing a set of fine paintbrushes and a small, blank canvas. Thaera’s breath catches in her throat, and she looks up at Erevan.

“I thought you might want to capture this,” he says softly. “You’ve always talked about painting Alyria.”

Thaera feels tears welling up in her eyes. She blinks them back. “Thank you,” she whispers. “It’s perfect.”

She sets up the canvas on her lap, taking out the brushes and selecting one with a fine tip. Erevan watches her as she begins to paint, his expression tender and full of admiration. Thaera dips the brush into her paint, her strokes light and quick as she tries to capture the scene before her — the glow of the lanterns, the vibrant colours of the festival, the soft light of the moons.

As she paints, Erevan leans closer, his arm resting lightly on the back of the bench. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, watching her work.

Thaera smiles, her heart full. “So are you,” she says, glancing at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the distant music and the hum of the crowd. After a while, Thaera asks, “Why did you change your mind about adopting?”

Erevan hesitates for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “I thought you might want to wait,” he says slowly. “After I’m gone, you could have children of your own, a chance to start fresh without... without my shadow lingering.”

Thaera’s heart aches at his words. She sets down her brush, turning to face him fully. “I never wanted anyone else,” she says firmly. “You are my family, Erevan. Whether we adopt or not, you’re all I need. You’re all I’ve ever needed.”

Erevan’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to cup her cheek with his hand. “I know,” he whispers. “I just... I didn’t want to hold you back.”

Thaera leans into his touch, closing her eyes. “You’re not holding me back,” she says. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve only ever lifted me up. I love you, Erevan, now and always.”

They share a deep, tender kiss, and for that moment, the world seems to stop. The sounds of the festival fade into the background, leaving just the two of them, connected in a way that words can never fully capture.

When they finally pull apart, Thaera rests her forehead against his, a smile playing on her lips. “Let’s go to the Moonspire,” she says. “I want to see the view from up there.”

Erevan nods, his eyes warm with understanding. “Let’s go,” he agrees.

They stand, making their way through the crowd toward the towering structure at the edge of the town. The climb up the Moonspire is long and steep, but Thaera doesn’t mind. Each step feels like a journey through their shared past — a celebration of every adventure, every challenge, every moment they have faced together.

They pause at various landings, catching their breath and admiring the views below. The town of Alyria is a sea of lights and colour, a testament to the joy of the people who live here. Thaera feels a sense of peace wash over her, knowing that she is exactly where she is meant to be, with the person she is meant to be with.

When they finally reach the top, the view takes Thaera’s breath away. The entire valley stretches out before them, bathed in the soft glow of the twin moons. The town below is alive with light and life, and the stars above seem to shine a little brighter, joining in the celebration.

Erevan stands behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close. Thaera leans back against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her back. She takes a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill her lungs, and feels a deep sense of contentment settle over her.

After a few moments, she speaks faintly. “What made you choose me, Erevan? What made you spare my life all those years ago?”

Erevan’s arms tighten around her, and she can feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. “I saw this,” he says quietly. “I saw us. I saw a life with you that was full of adventure and love. I didn’t know how or why, but I just knew you were the one I wanted to share it with. When I looked at you, I saw my future, and I knew I couldn’t let that go.”

Thaera feels tears prick at her eyes, her heart swelling with love for this man who has been her constant, her rock, through everything. She turns in his arms, looking up into his face, searching his eyes for the truth she already knows is there.

“And now?” she asks softly.

“Now,” Erevan says, his gaze steady and full of love, “I know it more than ever. Even as I grow old and grey, I can count on you to be there, ready to take up your sword, pack your bag, and set off with me on another adventure. No matter where we go or what we face, I know you’ll say yes. That’s why I chose you then, and that’s why I choose you now. Always.”

Thaera’s heart feels full to bursting, and she smiles, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Yes, always,” she whispers back. They share a tender, lingering kiss, the twin moons casting their light over them, as if blessing their union.

They stand there for a while longer, watching the fireworks explode in the sky below, their colours reflecting in the waters of the river that winds through the valley. Thaera feels a sense of peace and completeness that she hasn’t felt in a long time. She knows that whatever the future holds, they will face it together, just as they always have.

After a while, Thaera lets out a soft laugh. “You know we have to get back down, right?”

Written by J.T. Barker

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